


out of the darkness (then we supercollide)

by Vagabond



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Biting, Claiming, Claiming Bites, Collars, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Dubious Consent, Dubious Consent applies to Aziraphale/Crowley, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Handcuffs, Heavy Angst, Hell wins, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, It is just a rough ride to get there, Light Bondage, M/M, Metaphysical Sex, Non-con is never fully described it is just referenced and hinted at as part of the universe, Oral Sex, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, Rape/Non-con Elements, Semi-Public Sex, The Good Guys Eventually Win, The politics of heaven and hell, Trauma, Violence, Wing Grooming, Wing Kink, and you know hastur and ligur like to pull some gross shit but, blowjob, caring for wounds, i will add more tags as content comes up, it is just bracketed by the terrible things happening in hell, main story is chs 1 - 35, sometimes, surprisingly there is a lot of fluff and gentleness, the rest of the chapters are bonus content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-01-03 06:24:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 43
Words: 143,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21174896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagabond/pseuds/Vagabond
Summary: Aziraphale wakes up after a celebratory dinner at the Ritz and finds himself in a world where Hell won, Heaven lost, and angels have been taken as prisoners of war and subjected to all sorts of heinous behavior at the hands of demons in Hell. To right the world, Aziraphale will have to make strange alliances and figure out how to get Crowley, his new "owner", on his side.If only it were that easy.





	1. Chapter 1 - Act I: Hell

**Author's Note:**

> If you're coming to me having read some of my other stuff I'm going to tell you this now: this is very different. I've been pawing around some of the slave!au stuff in the _Good Omens_ fandom and found myself intrigued by some of the dynamics, then bitten by the urge to try my own hand at them. This is a plot heavy piece where Hell is A Very Bad Place and Bad Things Happens. There are non-con elements to this world as demons are free to rape and pillage as they see fit, so please be mindful if this is triggering to you. However, non-con never occurs between the main characters, only dubious consent which is explicitly addressed in the piece. I'm too much of a weenie to write Crowley actually hurting Aziraphale without outside circumstances compelling them both into a tricky situation. 
> 
> I will do my best to update tags and give content warnings at the beginning of most chapters. There will be some explicit sex scenes and, eventually, some very kind/fluffy smut between Aziraphale and Crowley. It just takes a while for them to get there because of the circumstances of the world they're in. I promise, everything comes to a happy ending. It is just going to be a hell of a ride to get there. Feedback is always welcome, especially when it comes to tagging content and giving warnings - I might not catch everything that should be tagged as I am pretty caught up in writing all of this. Help is great. If anyone would be interested in working with me as a beta on this piece, I'm open to that as well. 
> 
> Title is from the song [Supercollide by BANNERS](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MX_GVa7jVts). Check it out.

_ To the world _ . 

Aziraphale startled awake. His senses came to him slowly, achingly, his body sore and cold. As he opened his eyes and peered around him his heart sank. He was surrounded on all sides by cold metal bars and beneath him was an equally frigid metal bottom. 

He was in a cage. 

He was shackled. 

He was in  _ Hell _ . 

Aziraphale’s last clear memory was of the Ritz and the clinking of glasses as he and Crowley toasted to victory. Past that, nothing. There was just the damp darkness around him, something dripping nearby. As he struggled to sit up, shackles on his wrists and attached to a chain connected to a stake in the middle of the cage, he looked around. 

The room he was in was unfamiliar - he’d only seen a small portion of Hell while wearing Crowley’s skin, after all. The walls were a drab, cracked, dark stone that glistened with moisture as if they were underground. He supposed they were, in a way. Around him were other cages with other figures in various positions. 

A cold dread settled over him when he realized very quickly that they were all  _ angels _ . Some of them had their wings out and bent into strange positions, feathers pressing through the bars of the cage. Others had no wings but were dressed in tattered, filthy heavenly uniforms. 

Someone in the cage beside him groaned in pain and then went silent. Aziraphale’s unnecessary heart beat rapidly in his chest as he scrambled back toward one of the corners of the cage, the chain pulling taut. On instinct he reached out for a miracle, intent on easing some of the abject suffering that threatened to suffocate him in the room. 

It was as good as calling hellfire as the bindings around his wrists began to glow red hot, sending shooting, burning, smoldering pain through his every nerve. He screamed. There was no other description for the sound that came tearing out of his mouth as every ounce of him burned for a few long seconds and then ceased. 

He collapsed onto the metal ground, his whole body trembling uncontrollably as he choked back tears. The immediate burn was gone but the sensation of it continued to linger on his skin, simmering. He sobbed. It was worse than anything he’d ever experienced in his life and he wondered if it was what Falling felt like. 

“Oi none of that!” A rough voice barked as something hit the bars of his cage, barely making it through the haze of pain. “No miracles you fuckin’ twat. You’re damaging the merchandise and it is just gonna make it worse for you when someone finally claims your sorry arse.” 

Aziraphale, eyes filled with tears, blinked up at a rather scraggly looking demon he didn’t recognize. The fellow was thin, tall, dressed in stained and tattered clothes. He was quite certain his robe had blood stains splashed across the front, brown and dry with age. 

“...who?” Aziraphale’s mouth refused to work, tongue thick. He closed his eyes. 

“Your new Master will arrive soon. Try not to fuck things up before he gets here, eh?” The demon banged something against the bars of the cage again and then Aziraphale listened to his departing footsteps. 

His trembling died down as the pain slowly faded except for what remained ringed around his wrists. Aziraphale tried to bring his thoughts back together, puzzling through what exactly this was. Humanity had won the Great War. Adam Young averted the end of the world. Why did it look like Heaven lost? 

“I promise, m’lord, you will be absolutely pleased with this one. I’m told you might even know him from back in the Garden with all that apple business.” It was a different voice, another one that Aziraphale didn’t recognize. Likely another demon. 

“Oh?” An unimpressed voice answered and Aziraphale’s head immediately shot up, eyes widening.  _ Crowley _ . 

“Here he is m’lord he, ah, looks a bit rough right now but I was just told he tried to use a miracle. He won’t make that mistake again, I promise you that. Not after his punishment.” The voice laughed nervously. “Of course if you want a different angel, one that isn’t so...well. Injured…” 

“No,” Crowley said. “I was promised this one, so this one I will take. I have no interest in playing games. I don’t even want this one, but I’ve been told to reject it would be an insult so here I am.” 

“You know sire, not everyone is granted the gift of an angel.” 

“You don’t need to remind me,” Crowley growled. “I’m very well aware of what I’ve earned.” 

“Y-yes sir, let me just...unlock this.” 

Aziraphale heard the lock click open followed by the sound of a bolt being moved out of place. The hinges creaked as the door opened and rough hands grabbed him by the shackles. 

He cried out in pain, the metal digging into his burned wrists. 

“Come on you piece of shit, your new master is here,” the same demon that had been speaking with Crowley said as he dragged Aziraphale from the cage. The chain connecting his shackles to the stake dropping through demonic magic. Aziraphale stumbled to try and get his feet under him but he wasn’t given the chance. Instead he was tossed at Crowley’s feet. 

Crowley made a disgusted sound and Aziraphale heard a slap echo through the chamber followed by the whimper of a demon. 

“Don’t treat my property like that you idiot,” Crowley hissed. 

Aziraphale knew something was off from the tone of Crowley’s voice but chalked it up to keeping up pretenses. If Crowley was here to rescue him, perhaps he needed to pretend he was still on Hell’s side. 

“Can you stand?” Crowley asked as he crouched down in front of Aziraphale, grabbing his chin and forcing him to make eye contact. His uncovered eyes searched Aziraphale’s for  _ something _ , but instead more tears came. They slid down Aziraphale’s cheeks and he watched a disappointed look slide across Crowley’s face. 

“Come on then,” he said as he put an arm around Aziraphale and hoisted him up onto his feet. “Slagar, you can rest assured that Lord Beelzebub will hear about your treatment of unclaimed property.” 

“M-m’lord…” The demon didn’t follow them. Aziraphale focused on keeping his feet under him, leaning heavily into Crowley. 

“This is ridiculous,” Crowley mumbled and then snapped his fingers. Their surroundings shifted and Aziraphale looked around. They were in some sort of sitting room. Still in Hell, if Aziraphale’s senses weren’t completely off kilter. 

“Crowley,” he said, emotion welling up as he pressed into Crowley, shackled hands straining against the metal as he yearned to hug him. 

As soon as he was close to Crowley he was shoved back roughly, stumbling and falling onto his rear. The shackles continued to rub his wrists raw and he gazed up wide-eyed at Crowley who looked at him, somewhat panicked. 

“You know my name,” Crowley said and Aziraphale realized with a sinking sensation in his gut that something was  _ very wrong _ . 

“O-of course I do. Do you not…” Aziraphale couldn’t get his tongue to work, the trembling starting up all over again as exhaustion began to catch up with his corporation. “Remember?” 

“Slagar mentioned the Garden. I remember an angel with a flaming sword.” There was a strange look on Crowley’s face for a split second before it was gone and he looked down at Aziraphale with barely masked disgust. “None of that matters now. I’ll let you know this: I didn’t want a slave, let alone an angel slave. But I’m not allowed to turn this down without bringing heat down on my own head so here we are.” 

The realization that  _ everything _ was wrong threatened to drag Aziraphale beneath the waters of his own panic as his breathing started to pick up. His body ached and he reached out with his mind to Heaven in desperation as his mind raced.  _ Where was She? _ He tried to reach out for divine threads and they were there in the universe somewhere, but there was static and feedback in the way. 

Something was, for lack of a better understanding, blocking his signal. He began to really panic. 

“Take these off take these off,” Aziraphale began to gasp as he shook his hands and tried to tug at the shackles. They dug into his tender skin and he pushed past the pain, crying out as fresh tears fell from his eyes. “Take these off please.” He couldn’t breathe. He curled in on himself, head between his knees as he struggled to catch his breath. Every inhale felt like fire, burning him from the inside out. 

“Stop, stop,” Crowley insisted and hands came up on either side of Aziraphale’s head, holding his face as tears slid down his cheeks and chin and he struggled to breathe. “Just breathe. Inhale. Come on.” 

“Burns,” Aziraphale whimpered. 

“I’m sorry for this,” Crowley said as Aziraphale blacked out. 

He woke up again, this time in dim light. Aziraphale squinted and glanced around only to jump as something slid off of his forehead onto the ground. It was a wash cloth. He touched his forehead. 

“You’re awake,” Crowley said quietly and Aziraphale glanced over. He realized they were in some sort of sitting room, Crowley sprawled in an armchair. Aziraphale was laid across a couch. 

“I am,” Aziraphale rasped as he sat up and exhaled slowly, trying to collect himself. He glanced down at his wrists. The shackles were gone, the only evidence left the raw, reddened skin that still burned. He reached up and touched his neck, startled to find a leather collar on. 

He looked back at Crowley, confused. Crowley looked exasperated. 

“Do they not tell your lot anything about how this works?” Crowley asked with a scowl as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Look, I’m sorry about the collar. Normally there’s a little bit of pomp and circumstance to go along with it but I had to put it on you in your sleep in order to remove the shackles.” 

Aziraphale touched the charm dangling from it that he had trouble seeing. “What does it look like?” He didn’t know why it mattered, but it did. Something in Crowley’s face softened. 

“Black leather, imprinted with my name in red runes on the back. Black snake charm like my tattoo,” he tilted his head and motioned to the tattoo at his temple. “Is it comfortable? I tried to choose a soft leather for the lining…” 

It was far more preferable to the shackles, but the weight of a collar around his neck would take some getting used to. He nodded anyway and then stared down at his wounded wrists. 

“Your wrists, do they hurt?” Crowley asked. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied. “Quite a lot.” 

Crowley made a displeased noise with his teeth. “Your collar will have the same effect if you try to use divine magic. May I look at your wrists?” 

Aziraphale studied him from his place on the couch. “I don’t imagine I have much of a choice even if I didn’t wish you to.” He tried not to let too much bitterness seep into his voice. All of this was so terribly wrong and he didn’t have the faintest idea what to do. This was not  _ his _ Crowley, but at the same time there had to be a piece of what made his Crowley in this one. 

He just had to figure out how to bring it to the surface. 

At that moment, Crowley looked disgusted and Aziraphale wasn’t entirely sure if it was in regard to the situation or him specifically. 

“It isn’t like that,” Crowley tried to insist, then frowned. “Of course I have to take care of you. You’re my property, my  _ thing _ , but you’re not just a thing. You get to have some agency, at least here, when it is just you and me.” 

Aziraphale exhaled slowly and shakily before he nodded. “You can look at them.” 

Crowley rose from the chair and crossed the room in a couple long strides, sitting beside Aziraphale on the couch. He lifted his hand to inspect the burns, frowning. He pressed his fingertips to the red skin and Aziraphale yanked his hand back with a yelp, glowering. 

“That bad?” Crowley asked, torn between annoyance and amusement. Aziraphale scowled and tried to look menacing. 

“What do you think?” Aziraphale bit out tartly, the skin throbbing. 

“You’re a spitfire aren’t you.” Crowley shook his head. “You shouldn’t speak to me like that you know. It makes me look bad.” 

“To whom?” Aziraphale asked, glancing around. “It is just us.” 

For the first time since Aziraphale had woken up in the cage Crowley smiled. A comforting warmth spread out from his chest at the sight of it. 

Crowley waved his hand and a jar appeared on the couch cushion beside him along with what appeared to be gauze wrap and tape. “Let me see your wrist again.” 

“No,” Aziraphale grumbled, not exactly inclined to be touched again. There was a flash of annoyance before Crowley took a steadying breath. 

“Let me see your wrist,” Crowley said again, more firmly. “Now.” 

Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest but made the mistake of looking into Crowley’s familiar golden-yellow eyes. There was heat in them, warmth, similar to what had settled in Aziraphale’s chest after his smile. If he couldn’t trust Crowley, even  _ this _ Crowley, then he was doomed to accept this strange new fate he’d fallen into. 

He offered up his wrist and Crowley’s mouth relaxed from the thin line it had become. “Good.” 

The praise sent a shiver down Aziraphale’s spine. The quirk of Crowley’s eyebrows told him he noticed. Aziraphale willed his blush away, which was easy once Crowley began to spread a glob of some sort of white ointment on his wrist. 

He tried to pull away as the ointment stung but Crowley’s hand moved to grab Aziraphale’s elbow, holding him firmly in place. “Be still.” 

“Crowley…” Aziraphale winced. 

“You should call me Lord, or Master, or Sir,” Crowley mumbled. “You shouldn’t use my name. Did you not receive any of the training? I thought…” He looked up at Aziraphale and then shook his head. “Nevermind.” He smeared more of the ointment onto Aziraphale’s damaged skin. 

Then he waved his hand over it and it tingled, but this time in a soothing way. Aziraphale immediately relaxed. “Oh.” 

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” Crowley griped, rolling his eyes in what amounted to fond exasperation. “I’m not going to go out of my way to hurt you.” He wrapped the soothed skin in a gauze bandage and taped it. 

Aziraphale happily offered Crowley his other hand which he took quietly and proceeded to go through the same process, muttering soft ‘sorrys’ whenever his touch caused pain. Soon enough he was able to wave his hand over the ointment and the same comforting coolness spread across Aziraphale’s skin. 

“I’ll do it again tomorrow,” Crowley said as he finished wrapping Aziraphale’s second hand and let it go. “After that it should heal well enough on its own.” 

“Thank you.” Aziraphale set his hands in his lap. A million questions swarmed through his mind and he struggled to pinpoint exactly which one to start with. Perhaps the most obvious? “You don’t remember me.” 

“The garden was over 6000 years ago,” Crowley pointed out, sitting back against the arm of the couch. That was enough of an answer. After the Garden, they hadn’t kept running into each other. Something in this universe kept them apart. Or, perhaps Aziraphale never got to live on earth in this reality. The thought made his heart ache. 

“Of course,” Aziraphale replied and Crowley gave him a strange look. “What am I meant to do exactly?” 

Now the strange look drifted into one of confusion. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean,” Aziraphale tried to keep his voice even, tried to hold back his frustration at knowing nothing about the situation, “what is going on and what is my purpose here? You said I was what - your slave?” 

“I thought they did some sort of orientation for all of you prisoners of war,” Crowley said. “I was told you were ready to start service.” 

“It has been a trying time,” Aziraphale replied, trying to cover up his lack of knowledge. “I’m meant to serve you then?” 

“Yes, something like that. You’re part of the spoils of war, the result of Hell’s victory over Heaven in the Great War - yada, yada.” Crowley waved his hand dismissively, as if he didn’t really subscribe to the reality he was a part of. 

“You said back there in the cages that I was a reward?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Yes. Consider yourself a commendation for a job well done with the antichrist.” Crowley tossed his booted feet up onto the coffee table. 

“Adam Young,” Aziraphale said. 

“Adam  _ Dowling _ ,” Crowley replied, the strange look back on his face. “What were you, stashed under a rock during the war? I suppose you don’t look like much of a fighting type. Would explain a lot.” 

Dowling. That meant the babies hadn’t been switched. There had been no error on Hell’s part. Adam was raised by an American diplomat and allowed to come into his power likely without the influence of his friends and everything in Tadfield. Aziraphale’s heart sank, followed quickly by a keen sense of nausea. 

“You look like you’re about to pass out,” Crowley said with some trepidation. 

“I’m alright dear boy,” Aziraphale said as he sat back on the couch, taking a deep breath. 

“Really, you should get in the habit of referring to me respectfully,” Crowley mumbled, as if he didn’t really want to enforce it. “I’ll catch shit if the others overhear you saying things like ‘dear boy’. You’re not some human grandfather, you’re my -” Crowley frowned. “Ssslave.” 

“Right. Er. Right,  _ sir _ ?” He shot Crowley a questioning glance. Crowley shrugged. 

“Good enough for now.” Uncomfortable silence settled between them, something Aziraphale wasn’t used to. Silence with Crowley had grown so easy in 6000 years and now they were back to being half-strangers in even stranger circumstances. 

“I need you to answer this honestly,” Crowley said after a moment. Aziraphale looked up sharply and Crowley met his gaze. “Do you know what you’re doing? What you’ve gotten into?” 

Aziraphale looked away. “No.” 

“So you escaped whatever basic training you’re supposed to have, whatever orientation they put captured angels through?” Crowley sounded like he was frowning. “How?” 

“I don’t know.” Aziraphale didn’t have any other answer. He didn’t know how to explain to Crowley that he was from a different reality, a different timeline, that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong and he wasn’t sure how to fix it. 

“You’re not lying. I’d know if you were,” Crowley said. “Somehow, despite all the odds, you not only made it through the war but you made it through the post-war without any fucking idea the position you’re in. I don’t know whether you’re the luckiest angel, or the unluckiest one right now. I suppose time will be the judge of that.” 

“I suppose so.” Aziraphale considered his nails, still well manicured, as they had been before they’d averted the end of the world. Even his clothes seemed to be in good condition compared to those of his compatriots, dirty in a way that made them look well used, but not unraveled or frayed.  _ What’s happened? _ He asked in his own mind, forcing himself not to glance upward.  _ Where are You? _ She had to be out there somewhere, this had to be some part of the plan. 

“Look,” Crowley said, breaking Aziraphale out of his contemplation. “I’m not going to be needlessly cruel. Like I said before, I didn’t even  _ want _ an angel, but I suppose if you had to get stuck with someone it is lucky it ended up being me. I’m not going to go searching for answers, I’m not going to make you go through the training, but I need you to understand this: we’re not friends.” 

The words struck Aziraphale in the chest and he bit back his retort. It was like the bandstand but in reverse.  _ Yes we are _ . 

“You will refer to me as sir at the very least, Lord in front of the others if you will. You will run errands for me, you will keep these quarters clean, you will be available to do all of the tedious things I don’t want to do. In return for good behavior I promise I will not hurt you, control you, or force you to do anything against your will within these walls. Out there, though?” He motioned to one of the walls, referring to the rest of Hell, “I will treat you however I see fit in order to play their stupid game. But know that you are always under my protection and no one has any right to hurt you. You are collared, you are  _ mine _ ,” and there was something fierce in the way Crowley said that last part, “and anyone who messes with you will be punished.” 

He took a deep breath. Aziraphale followed suit. It was a lot to think about and he was a bit dizzy with it. 

“Clear?” Crowley asked. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. 

“Yes…?” Crowley prompted and Aziraphale grimaced. 

“Yes,  _ sir _ .” Aziraphale amended. 

“Good,” Crowley smirked and Aziraphale shivered again and ducked his head. 

This was going to be a challenge. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be every Friday and Tuesday for now. Might have to drop to once a week depending on how the chapters flow. 
> 
> Come hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale gets a tour of his new abode as reality sinks in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Tuesday! As promised, here's chapter 2! This fic is likely going to be lengthy, as I've just started on chapter 11 and we're just starting to tip into the real arc of the plot. Thank you so much for all the comments. I feel like this fic is pushing me in a lot of ways, and I'm glad to see it is well received. I will say, if anyone is interested in discussing this project with me and potentially helping me beta, I would love to chat and see if we're a good fit.

“These are your quarters,” Crowley explained as he ushered Aziraphale into a small room off the main hallway. He’d gotten a tour of most of Crowley’s home and was rather impressed. It was expansive, with a sitting room, library, kitchen, a small den, an office, and now this small bedroom. He imagined further down the hall was Crowley’s bedroom but they hadn’t made it that far. 

The room they were in was small with what looked to Aziraphale like a full sized bed, a nightstand, a writing desk, a closet, and a small dresser. It would do, though it lacked books. He wondered idly if Crowley would allow him to have a bookcase. 

His  _ books _ he remembered, overwhelmed suddenly by the thought. Had he collected them in this timeline? Was his shop somewhere Up There? Had it been burned here like it had the last? Crowley’s back was turned to him which gave him just enough time to sober himself, stuffing his grief into the back of his mind. 

There would be time to properly grieve later. Right now he had to survive. 

“Don’t brag about your quarters,” Crowley warned, turning to look at Aziraphale. “Most slaves don’t get their own space. They are often in their Master’s bedroom at their beck and call at all hours. You, however, will have your own personal space. There are clothes for you, mostly in my colors since you will be doing work on my behalf, but I’ve tried to include some variety.” 

“May I?” Aziraphale asked, motioning toward the closet. Crowley nodded. Aziraphale stepped forward and opened it. Inside were mostly tunics of varying shades of black and grey with red accents and trim. On the breast of many of the shirts was an embroidered red snake in the same symbol as that on his collar. Buried in amongst them were other pieces, including a cream suit jacket, a waistcoat, and dress shirts to go with them. 

“I thought…” Crowley sighed. “When you’re around the house you could wear something that’s not my colors. Of course if you’d like anything else you just need to ask, it is easy enough to miracle up clothing for you.” 

“These are fine,” Aziraphale whispered as he reached forward and held the soft fabric between his fingers, rubbing. “Quite fine.” They’d have to do. He shut the closer door and looked around the rest of the room. “Thank you...sir.” He’d have to get used to it. 

“Right.” Crowley lifted up onto the balls of his feet and then brought his heels back down to the ground in a nervous gesture. “You’ll sleep in here, then.” 

“I don’t really sleep, honestly,” Aziraphale admitted, though he certainly felt tired. 

“You will want to while you’re down here.” Crowley grimaced. “That collar,” he pointed in Aziraphale’s general direction, “it tamps down on some of your angelic abilities. It doesn’t just punish, it mutes. You’re going to feel tired because it is technically syphoning off your energy. You might not have needed to sleep before, but you will want to now to conserve and regenerate energy.” 

“Oh.” Aziraphale reached up and touched the collar. The charm jingled softly against the metal ring it was attached to. 

“I’m sorry.” Crowley looked...haunted. It was hardly comforting. 

“Quite alright, sir,” Aziraphale said. “I will keep that in mind.” 

“If it helps, I rather enjoy sleeping. Nice break from the world and all. You’ll be allowed a full night of rest whenever you need it, and naps between tasks if you’re tired.” Crowley offered him a weak smile. 

“And food?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Kitchen is stocked. Like sleeping you’ll probably want to eat, keep your energy up. I don’t eat much but if you cook feel free to make extra. I might nibble. The only thing I require is coffee in the morning which will be one of your tasks. There’s a scheduling setting on the pot, so you just have to make sure it is set up every evening before you sleep. Should be easy.” Crowley glanced around the room as if he were looking for something. “We’ll talk more about your tasks over the next few days.” 

“Right.” Tasks. He could make coffee, cook food, clean. It was no worse than anything he’d had to do for himself back on earth. 

“Tomorrow you can get acclimated with this space. Settle in, as it were, as much as anyone can. Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the place.” He motioned to the open door and Aziraphale stepped out, wishing he could do something to ease the tension that thrummed through Crowley. He was led all the way down the hallway and through a door into what he had guessed correctly to be Crowley’s bedroom. 

It was sparse, reminiscent of what he recalled of Crowley’s Mayfair apartment. A large king sized bed was the centerpiece, swathed in black and slate grey bedding. It was flanked by dark wood nightstands. Aziraphale saw a dresser, double doors that led to what he assumed to be a closet, and a couple of small bookcases with ancient looking tomes on them. 

His fingers itched to touch them but he refrained. 

“There’s an extra bathroom through here,” Crowley said as he paced across the room to another door in the corner. Aziraphale followed and peered inside. There was a large in ground bathtub and a standing shower along with a sink. He even had a toilet, despite their corporations not necessarily requiring one. 

“I got used to earth,” Crowley explained. “This place was designed by my expectations and, well, when you live up there for so long I suppose you just come to expect a toilet in the bathroom.” He offered a sheepish smile and rubbed the back of his head. “There’s another bathroom in the hall which is what you can use. There’s another tub, clawfoot, should be comfortable. Feel free to leave anything in there that you’d like.” 

Crowley led him out of the bedroom and Aziraphale cast one last longing glance at the books before they made their way back to the sitting room and kitchen area. 

“Questions?” Crowley asked, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. 

“Would you like tea, sir?” Aziraphale needed some. Crowley looked startled. 

“I suppose. There’s a variety in there, help yourself.” Crowley motioned to the kitchen and then walked into the sitting room, draping himself over one end of the couch. 

“Preference?” Aziraphale asked from the kitchen. 

“Whatever you’re having, angel.” 

Aziraphale’s heart thumped hard in his chest and he closed his eyes against the wave of emotion that single word dredged up.  _ Angel _ . It is what Crowley had called him since the beginning of time. He’d uttered it millions of times over thousands of years, in restaurants and parks and Aziraphale’s bookshop. 

_ Get in the car, angel. _ He could hear it in Crowley’s voice, moments after they’d dropped Anathema off and repaired her bike, events that didn’t happen in this strange divergent universe. Aziraphale gripped the edge of the counter and swallowed down the longing that threatened to overwhelm him. 

He missed his home. He missed Crowley. Really, they were one in the same. Oh, he’d wasted so much blessed time on earth thinking he had the rest of time to figure it out. Now here he was, collared and standing in a kitchen, casting about for the electric kettle, barely stopping himself from using a miracle. 

“Alright?” Crowley asked, voice close, and Aziraphale looked over at the archway to find him standing there, concern written across his face. 

“Fine, sir,” he murmured. “Please go sit back down.” 

“You don’t look fine.” Crowley took a few timid steps closer. “I know you’ve been through a lot today, if you wanted to rest you’re welcome to. I’m not...I can make tea myself.” 

What a strange world he was in, Aziraphale thought. He shook his head and took a couple deep, steadying breaths before he stood up straight and walked over to the kettle. 

“All is well, I assure you. Please, de-” he caught himself, “ _ sir _ , sit. I’ll be with you again in a moment.” 

“Right.” Crowley frowned but turned on his heel and left, presumably to retake his seat in the sitting room. Aziraphale focused on the process of making tea, thinking carefully through every step. Turn on the tap, add the water, put the kettle on to boil, take out mugs. With each step he focused on the sensations like the weight of the kettle and the cool touch of ceramic. It grounded him, helped him organize his otherwise chaotic and unhelpful thoughts. 

He could do this, he  _ had _ to do this. If he could keep the ruse up long enough perhaps he could figure out a way to fix it all. There had to be a way to fix it. He forced himself to not glance up toward what he hoped was Heaven.  _ Help me _ , he prayed silently.  _ Please _ . 

Aziraphale watched the steam rise up from the mugs as the tea seeped out of the bag and colored the water a reddish-orange. He’d chosen a spicy cinnamon tea for the occasion, desiring a reminder of all the wonderful spices he’d left behind on earth. Picking up the mugs, willing his hands to stop shaking, he made his way to the sitting room and offered one without comment to Crowley. 

“Thank you,” Crowley said as he took it and rested the mug on his thigh, motioning with his free hand to the other end of the couch. “Sit, please.” 

“Yes, sir.” Aziraphale sat, back straight, tea cup held between his hands as the warmth seeped out of it and into his bones. 

They sat in silence.

“I’ll have some things to see to tomorrow,” Crowley said, glancing over at Aziraphale. “Like I said before, I prefer it if you didn’t leave this place. You should take it easy, rest, perhaps if you’re up to it you can make something for dinner. I’ll return later in the day.” 

“Of course, sir.” Aziraphale took a sip of his tea, let the cinnamon, cloves, and hint of orange rest on his tongue before he swallowed. “Do you have a preference?” 

“No, food was never really my thing. Whatever you like, I’m sure I’ll enjoy.” Crowley shrugged. “If you have questions at the end of the day I’ll be happy to answer them. I’m sure a few might come up.” 

“Indeed.” Aziraphale had questions already, none of which could be asked without raising more suspicion. 

“Is there anything you need? Anything you’d like? I can pick up a few things while I’m out tomorrow.” 

“Paper,” Aziraphale requested. “If you would, sir. Or a journal. Something to write with. I’d like...some place to keep my thoughts. To keep track of tasks.” 

“Right. Yeah. ‘Course. That’s easy.” Crowley took a sip of his tea. “Anything else?” 

“Not that comes to mind at the moment.” Aziraphale stared at his tea. 

“Well if you think of anything...eventually you’ll be able to go out and about, pick things up. Perhaps the day after tomorrow I’ll take you around, show you the main places you’ll need to know.” Crowley sighed. “Been a while since I’ve spent a prolonged period of time in Hell so it will be a bit of an adjustment for me, too.” 

“We’ll figure it out together,” Aziraphale began, falling into a familiar communication pattern only to realize his error. “Sir.” 

Crowley huffed, but didn’t say anything more. When the tea was done he rose to his feet. 

“I’m going to wash this out and call it a night,” Crowley said and Aziraphale rose to his feet, reaching for the mug. 

“Please, sir, allow me.” Aziraphale was granted the cup and a conflicted look from Crowley who eventually glanced away, back toward the hallway. 

“Right, well. Goodnight. If you need anything you can knock.” With that, he disappeared down the hallway. 

Aziraphale occupied himself with cleaning out the mugs, trying to focus on the way the warm water ran over his hands. Despite there being a perfectly nice dishwasher he decided to wash them by hand, in need of the mundane task to help him order his thoughts. He dried them with a hand towel and stuck them back in the cupboard. 

He stood in the middle of the kitchen for a moment as the weight of the day settled on him. This was real. This was his new reality. 

“What am I supposed to do?” He asked, finally casting his gaze Heavenward. “I’m lost.” 

When he didn’t receive an answer he shut off the lights throughout the abode and slipped into his room. He located a pair of soft pajamas, changed into them, and crawled into bed. He doubted his ability to sleep, but the moment his head hit the pillow exhaustion swallowed him up. 

Aziraphale went gladly into the darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com) if you want to come chat! Next update will be this Friday.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale adjusts as best he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning my loves. Here is a new chapter as promised! Shout out to [Kazeetie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kazeetie/pseuds/Kazeetie) who has agreed to help me beta this! It is good to have someone to ramble to about my story idea.
> 
> Thanks as always to everyone who has commented and shown enthusiasm for this project!! I'm excited to share it with you.

Aziraphale awoke the next morning to a dull ache in his wrists and head. He’d had a dream that he couldn’t quite remember the pieces of and it left him unsettled. It seemed important but he couldn’t recall why. 

He sat up, the sheet falling away from him as he glanced around the room. He was still in Hell, still in a strange reality he didn’t belong in. It was disheartening. A small part of him had hoped to wake up back on earth, in the bookshop, with Crowley kicking down the door wondering where he’d been. 

Tears fell against his better judgment as he was momentarily overwhelmed by his predicament. He pulled his knees to his chest and rested his forehead against them as he wept, clinging to himself and reciting Psalms in his head. He understood now why King David had cried out as he had, so long ago in another world. 

The tears faded over time as he allowed himself a single moment of weakness before pulling himself back together. There was a world to set to rights and he had to be strong to pull it off. He slipped out of bed and crept down the hallway into the bathroom, not bothering to check if Crowley was awake. He had been given permission to settle, and that’s what he planned to do. 

Aziraphale ran the shower, bathing for comfort as opposed to need, and allowed the hot water to wash the tear stains from his pale face. He scrubbed with lemon-ginger soap Crowley had left in the bathroom and toweled off after he was done, wrapping the fluffy towel around him. He carefully picked off the now wet gauze from his wrists and tossed it into a bin beneath the sink, staring at the wide, still-red rings around his wrists. 

He instinctively touched his collar, realizing it had remained dry throughout the shower. Magic, then, and powerful magic at that. He frowned at his pale, drawn face in the mirror, taking in the dark circles beneath his eyes. Crowley was right, he was tired. Something about being in Hell wore on his corporation. Aziraphale touched the collar again, staring at it, fingers brushing over soft leather. 

Overwhelmed he lunged for the toilet, grateful for Crowley’s earthly expectations, as he dry heaved into the bowl. It was stress, he realized. Stress and heartache as his chest burned and his stomach ached. There was nothing to throw up but he continued to dry heave until the tears came again. 

He sobbed against the porcelain as his heart cried out desperately for God. He was a stranger in a strange land and wasn’t sure he had the constitution to survive it. 

Aziraphale lamented on the cold tile floor for a while, his body uncomfortably numb. He was still wrapped in the towel, head pillowed in his arms as he took deep breaths of cold air. He allowed himself this single indulgence, to dwell in dark hopelessness for a moment before he knew he’d have to pick himself up and soldier on. The world needed him. God needed him. 

“Aziraphale.” Crowley’s voice was soft but laced with concern as Aziraphale jolted awake, aching and cold. He realized he was still on the bathroom floor and was immediately embarrassed. He’d fallen asleep. 

“Crowley.” Aziraphale rasped his name and flinched as Crowley touched his arm. 

“I told you that you’d need time to settle,” Crowley pointed out as if it would help. “Being down here is rough on an angel. Come on, up you go. We ought to get you dressed.” 

“What time is it?” Aziraphale asked, grimacing as Crowley pulled him to his feet, tucking the towel around him securely. “Sir,” Aziraphale added quickly. 

Crowley sighed. “Evening. Around five, if we’re thinking about time on earth. I take it you’ve been sleeping all day?” 

“I didn’t mean to,” Aziraphale admitted. Crowley glanced at him. 

“No, I don’t imagine you did.” 

He followed Crowley to his room where he was guided to sit on the edge of the bed as Crowley picked through the closet. He returned to Aziraphale holding a light linen tunic and a pair of loose, darker brown linen trousers. There were briefs tucked between them. “Wear these,” Crowley insisted, offering them to Aziraphale. “They should be comfortable.” 

“Yes, sir.” Aziraphale took them and stared at the articles of clothing in his hands. 

“I’ll leave you to change. Come find me in the kitchen when you’re done. I think we ought to make dinner and you should eat something.” 

“I’m not particularly hungry, sir,” Aziraphale admitted. 

“You’ll eat anyway,” Crowley answered firmly. “You need it, even if you don’t want it.” 

“Yes, sir,” Aziraphale whispered. He stared at Crowley’s feet as they hesitated, before Crowley turned and left the room. 

Aziraphale pulled on the tunic, underwear, and trousers. It was all loose and light, soft against his skin. Comforting in a way, he supposed. There were house slippers by the door to his bedroom so he slid his feet into them and made his way to the kitchen. 

Crowley was there, the sleeves of his black button-up shirt rolled up to the elbow. He had an apron on and appeared to be chopping vegetables. He glanced over at Aziraphale. 

“Do you like curry?” He asked. 

Aziraphale smiled for the first time that day, taking in Crowley’s slightly ruffled hair and nervous look. 

“I do,” he answered. “Sir.” 

“You can, er, drop the sir stuff for now?” Crowley offered as he turned his attention back to chopping up what Aziraphale realized to be a carrot. “Practice it if you want but it is more important for you to address me like that out there, in public. Less important in here.” 

“Of course. Do you need any help?” Aziraphale asked as he stepped further into the kitchen. 

“Nah, this is all simple enough. Don’t expect this all the time, though,” Crowley warned, scooping the chopped carrots into a bowl and beginning on an onion. “I’m being this nice because you’re settling in and there’s a bit of a physical learning curve. Pay attention to your body, you’ll need to figure out how to manage the stress of being in this place.” 

Crowley was right, of course. Aziraphale couldn’t live in a bubble forever. There was work to be done, for Crowley and for the world. 

“I got you a journal,” Crowley said after a moment, continuing to chop. “I left it in the sitting room, along with a few pens. Wasn’t sure what kind of pen you’d prefer. Go take a look.” 

Aziraphale smiled even though Crowley didn’t look up to see it. “Thank you.” 

“Thank me once you take a look and make sure it is what you want,” Crowley grumbled. 

Aziraphale headed into the sitting room and found the journal on the coffee table. It was leather bound in dark brown, stiff but it would get broken in. He flipped through the pages which were entirely blank, his preference. He closed it and ran his fingers over the plain cover and then brought it up to his nose to inhale the wonderful smell of leather. It reminded him of his books. 

He looked at the pens next and there was a variety, as promised. A ballpoint ink pen, a fountain pen, and a couple of pencils too. Aziraphale picked them all up and took the bundle to his room, leaving it on the nightstand. He returned to the kitchen then to find Crowley adding things to the pot, the smell of spices filling the space. 

“What do you think?” Crowley asked as he stirred. 

“The journal is lovely, thank you.” Aziraphale leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest only to grimace as the fabric of his shirt rubbed against his wrists. He dropped his hands back to his sides. Crowley looked over. 

“After dinner I’ll see to those again,” he said as he motioned with the spoon to his wrists. “This round should heal them.” 

“What sorts of things did you have to do today?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley shot him a suspicious look that then melted into something easier. 

“Bullshit,” Crowley replied, staring into the pot. “And a lot of it at that. Had to submit some paperwork, see to some errands others are running for me above ground, read some reports about what’s happening on Earth. I’d much rather be up there myself.” 

“Ah.” Of course he would, Aziraphale thought. He wondered what it was like on Earth now under the rule of the antichrist. Under an Adam that never had the chance to be truly human. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Crowley said after a moment, putting a lid on the pot and turning his full attention to Aziraphale. “It has nothing to do with you and everything to do with all of this.” He waved his hand around. 

“Bureaucratic nonsense,” Aziraphale supplied. 

“Yeah, sure. All talk, no action. Though I suppose there’s not much in terms of action to take since we were victorious. Not really sure what comes next, to be honest.” Aziraphale watched as Crowley paced over to a rice maker and peeked through the lid. 

“Right.” Every reminder that Heaven had lost left Aziraphale with the sensation of being doused in ice cold water. 

“There has to be something,” Aziraphale said after a moment. “Certainly the plan doesn’t end here?” 

Crowley shot him a discerning look. “Don’t know. God’s been silent on the issue. We half expected Her to come down and smite us but it was radio silence. No word from the Metatron either.” 

There was an underlying message in Crowley’s words that Aziraphale read loud and clear: he and the other angels had been abandoned. 

Aziraphale’s head swam with the thought as he desperately cast about for the divine threads again, comforted to sense them despite the sea of static that seemed to be pushing them away. They hadn’t been abandoned, couldn’t have been. Something was merely wrong and he had to figure out how to fix it. 

He leaned a little more heavily against the counter, realizing too late that his breathing had become a bit ragged. It was panic again, but he was divorced from it, watching from above as his corporation struggled to catch its breath. Strange. What a strange world. 

“Angel,” Crowley said and it was the first tether Aziraphale could hold onto as he swam back into his body and was overwhelmed with a gasping breath. Crowley’s long fingers rested against his cheeks, his jaw cupped in strong, sure hands. “Hey, hey,” Crowley said firmly. “I’m right here, you’re here, it is alright, just breathe.” 

Aziraphale reached up and wrapped his fingers around Crowley’s wrists, holding on. 

“You need to eat,” Crowley murmured. “We’ll need to figure out a routine before the stress of all of this discorporates you.” 

Aziraphale nodded mutely, agreeing. He knew somewhere in his mind that he  _ was _ hungry, that the lightheaded sensation plaguing him had everything to do with his corporation burning more energy than it had consumed. Who knew how long it had been between meals since waking up in the cage. 

He realized belatedly that he was being guided to a small table and chairs in a dining nook. 

“Rest here,” Crowley insisted, leaving only to return with a glass of water he set on the table. “Drink that.” 

“Yes sir,” Aziraphale mumbled as he took the glass and drank it down. Oh, he was thirsty. 

“Good, angel,” Crowley praised him. “I’ll get you another.” He returned with another glass of water and Aziraphale drank that one more slowly. Crowley looked pleased and returned to the pot on the stove, stirring. It smelled good and Aziraphale’s stomach finally rumbled. 

“See,” Crowley said as if it proved his earlier point. “You need to make sure to take care of yourself. That is going to be one of your tasks. You’ll be no good to me otherwise.” 

Aziraphale finished the glass of water, nodding even though Crowley couldn’t see. He sat as Crowley fished a couple of bowls out of the cabinet, filling them with rice and curry and bringing them over. He refilled Aziraphale’s water glass, too, and brought over a glass of wine for himself. 

Aziraphale eyed it, but knew that wine was a bad idea. 

“Do you want a sip?” Crowley asked. “You can’t have a glass, not today. Not until you’re more acclimated to life down here but you’re welcome to a taste.” 

“I shouldn’t,” Aziraphale said and Crowley shrugged. 

“Consider it a temptation.” He pushed the glass across the table and Aziraphale took it, taking a sip. It was a good vintage. He pushed the glass back. 

“Thank you,” he murmured. 

“You’re welcome,” Crowley replied. “Now eat up.” 

Aziraphale didn’t need to be told twice. After the first bite, despite the heat, he was ravenous and devoured two bowls of it along with the remaining third in Crowley’s first bowl. Along with it he consumed a few more glasses of water and after all of it felt significantly less light headed. Perhaps Crowley did know a thing or two about surviving in Hell. 

“You look better. There’s color back in your cheeks,” Crowley remarked. “Good.” 

Aziraphale huffed and sipped his water shyly. Something about being praised always managed to get a rise out of him.

“It will please me for you to keep yourself well, angel,” Crowley said and Aziraphale glanced up at him. 

“Of course.” For Crowley, he’d try. Not that he needed to be persuaded to eat and drink. Usually, anyway.

Crowley gathered up the dishes and Aziraphale rose to protest only to sit back down at a sharp look from Crowley. “Like I said, don’t get used to this. This is just for tonight, but I’ll clean up.” 

“Alright.” Aziraphale settled back on the chair and watched as Crowley washed the dishes by hand and left them on a drying rack that hadn’t been there before. 

“Come,” Crowley said as he walked back over to the table. “I want to see to your wrists again.” 

They made their way into the sitting room and Aziraphale offered up his hand willingly this time as Crowley dabbed the ointment on his wrist again. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as it had the day before. 

“Why can’t you heal the wound directly?” He asked as Crowley bound his first wrist in gauze again. 

“Other wounds I could,” Crowley explained. “But these were made by demonic magic. Trying to heal them with more demonic magic would just hurt you even more. So instead I use the ointment as a middle man. Put the ointment on, enchant the ointment, then it is the ointment that is healing you not my direct magic.” He shrugged. “We’re all about loopholes here in Hell.” 

“I’m certainly grateful for that,” Aziraphale replied as the soothing coolness seeped into the skin of his other wrist. Crowley showed it the same care and attention. 

“They should be healed up by tomorrow. Shouldn’t even leave a scar.” He looked pleased with himself as he sat back. Then he glanced up at Aziraphale. “You look better.” 

“I feel a bit better,” Aziraphale admitted. “Perhaps you were right about the food.” 

“‘Course I was.” He scoffed, but there was a small smile tugging at his lips. He was definitely pleased with himself. “We should talk more about what the next few days will look like.” 

“Of course.” Tasks. Aziraphale was a slave. It was so easy to forget that bit when he was with Crowley like this. 

“I’d like you to set up the coffee maker tonight for one,” Crowley began. “Tomorrow, you’re welcome to wake up at your leisure and eat breakfast. If you can’t think of anything to make there’s oatmeal and I’d ask that you add it to your list of tasks to eat it.” 

It was such a Crowley thing, Aziraphale thought, to include self-care as part of a slave’s task list. 

“Once you’ve eaten you’ll get dressed in my colors and run some errands. I’ll leave instructions and a few things I’ll need you to deliver on the table in the morning. When you’re done with that, come back and the day is yours. Make sense?” Crowley watched, waiting for an answer. 

“Yes, sir.” Aziraphale replied. “Are you unable to show me around?” 

“Unfortunately I’ve been pulled into meetings for most of the day tomorrow. I’ll show you around eventually, though. I promise. The last thing either of us wants is for you to make a wrong turn and end up in the Hellhound pits.” 

That indeed sounded unpleasant. It must have shown on his face because Crowley shook his head. 

“I’m joking, angel. Sort of. Just follow the instructions I leave you and you’ll be fine, alright?” 

“Alright,” Aziraphale answered. 

“You have free reign of this place.” Crowley motioned around. “Make yourself comfortable.” 

“Even the library?” Aziraphale asked, perhaps a bit too eagerly. 

“Even the library. You like books?” Crowley asked, giving Aziraphale a curious look. 

Aziraphale sank back into the couch a bit, realizing he’d just given a piece of himself away. “Yes, I do. I -”  _ had quite the collection on Earth _ , he wanted to say, but coughed instead. “I do,” he repeated lamely. 

“Right. Well, the collection here isn’t great. I’ve got a few I brought down from Earth but I’ll keep an eye out for others. You’re welcome to whatever I’ve got.” Crowley stood. “C’mon, we should go take a look at the coffee maker. I’ll show you how to set it up.” 

Aziraphale followed obediently. The coffee maker was easy enough. Crowley’s home was filled with appliances from Earth which eased a little of the ache in Aziraphale’s heart. The promise of books helped, too, though he knew he couldn’t give into the urge to stay up all night reading. 

They set up the coffee maker and then made their way down the hallway. 

“I’ve got some work to do,” Crowley said. “You’re welcome to occupy yourself. I likely won’t see you until later tomorrow.” 

“And I will complete the tasks you leave for me between now and then,” Aziraphale offered. “Sir.” 

Crowley laughed softly. “Yes. Quite. Goodnight, Aziraphale.” 

“Goodnight.” Aziraphale watched as Crowley disappeared down the hallway. He then slipped down to the library, his fingers trailing over the spines of books on the shelves. There was a paperback copy of _The_ _Canterbury Tales_ that he plucked from the shelf and took back to his room. He read it until his eyes grew heavy and he was able to drift to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters posted Tuesdays & Fridays. 
> 
> Come find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/). I don't bite, I swear.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale finally gets to explore the halls of Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. Happy Tuesday. As promised, here's an update for you! A little later than I normally get it up but I'm working from home today because we had my non-profits big fundraising gala last night and we were at the venue until late packing up afterward. It was a long day!
> 
> I want to highlight some **content warnings** for this chapter. I think all of these are reflected in the fic-wide tags, but since this is the first real shift in content I thought it was worth bringing up. There's physical abuse of an angel slave (not Aziraphale), peripheral non-con happening in the halls of Hell, crude language, verbal abuse, and there's an attempt to sexually assault Aziraphale (not by Crowley). There's some wound care, so if that makes you squicky then you might want to skip over some parts but all of these things for future reference are going to be part of this universe and elements of the story going forward. I just want everyone to be aware of what they'll be reading and to let everyone know that I'm **always looking for feedback** on how to tag this fic since I might overlook some things. 
> 
> Thanks as always to my beta, Kazeetie. And thanks to everyone who has read and responded to this fic! It means a lot.

Despite being offered a leisurely morning, Aziraphale was up earlier in the morning than he might have liked. He picked up his book and set it carefully on his nightstand beside his journal, gazing longingly at both items. They were a start, at least. Something that could remind him of home. 

He rose from the bed and decided to take another quick shower, feeling better under the warm water. He removed his bandages and found his wounded wrists to be completely healed. It was good, he thought. Moving through the home he returned to his room to pull on a set of clothes in black and red, boasting what appeared to be Crowley’s symbol. He slid into a pair of comfortable black shoes and then made his way to the kitchen. 

It smelled like coffee and the pot appeared half-empty, meaning Crowley had come and gone already. Aziraphale paused and listened to the quiet of the house, frowning. He was alone. He touched the collar around his neck and wondered what it would take to get it off. If he was able to deactivate the magic could he get away? He wouldn’t likely get far and it wasn’t as if he was familiar with the paths in Hell. 

No, for now he would have to continue playing along. If he thought about it in terms of being a spy, it was a little easier to process, though the last time he’d played spy he’d ended up with a bomb dropped on his head. Tea, he decided, would be a way to start his morning. No point in getting caught up in hard memories. As he boiled the water he sought out a bowl and dumped a packet of instant oatmeal into it. Crowley had been right, he was not in the mood to make anything more complicated. 

While the kettle worked he padded over to the table and scanned over the notes. 

_ Add the baggie of nuts and seeds to the oatmeal _ , it read at the top with an arrow pointing to the referenced bag.  _ It adds nutrients _ . He huffed, but picked it up anyway and walked back over to his light breakfast. He brewed a cup of earl grey and allowed the oats to soak up the hot water before adding just a splash of milk and the packet of nuts and seeds that Crowley had left. 

Breakfast prepared he sat at the table and, as if it were the daily news, began to read through his tasks for the day. There was an envelope that felt like it was packed with papers that he was supposed to deliver to the ‘Office of Completions’, whatever that meant. Then there was a package to deliver to the representative of Dagon, a name Aziraphale  _ did _ recognize. Finally, he was asked to stop by what amounted to a convenience shop in Hell to pick up some crisps. He was meant to add it to Crowley’s tab. 

Each of the tasks had directions written out and all seemed easy enough to follow, Aziraphale thought, as he sipped his tea and took a bite of oatmeal. Oh, the walnuts  _ were _ a nice addition to his meal. He glanced at the bowl distractedly before tearing his gaze away and returning to his task list. 

At the bottom, it was suggested that he could do whatever he liked around the house until Crowley’s return when the rest of his tasks were complete. He planned to read more of his book and perhaps take a better inventory of Crowley’s library. 

When he finished his breakfast and was able to check it off the list he made sure his dishes were cleaned and left in the drying rack before he gathered what he believed he would need for the day. There was a messenger bag by the door with a note on it, suggesting he take it in case he was given any messages to return with. Slinging it over his shoulder he stepped out of Crowley’s home and found himself in a grand, empty hallway. 

It must be Hell’s version of an apartment complex. He glanced down at the notes and began to follow them, the path leading to a hallway that had other people wandering through it. Some were angels dressed in what Aziraphale could only assume were their master’s colors boasting collars, though none seemed as lovely as his own. He also noticed with growing dread that the angels didn’t look well. His face in the mirror this morning had seemed far less sallow than it had the day before, but the angels he passed couldn’t say the same. 

As he slowed his gait he began to take in more details. One of the angels he passed was naked, a heavy metal collar around its neck with an uncomfortably weighted chain hanging off of it and dragging on the ground. It - or, he, if the presenting genitalia were anything to go by - limped with the weight of it. Aziraphale didn’t recognize him but that wasn’t a surprise. Angels in the lower ranks didn’t tend to associate with each other, especially since Aziraphale had been assigned to Earth.

The chain dragged on the ground behind him and a demon stepped on it, jerking the angel to a stop. Immediately the angel trembled, staring down hard at the ground. 

“Yes, sir, how can I help you?” He asked quietly, voice raw. The longer Aziraphale looked, the more he realized just how beat up the poor creature was. He had poorly healed lash marks along his back and bruises over his ribs. There were a set of bruises on his hips that looked suspiciously like they were from the press of fingers. 

“Is your master trying to annoy us all?” The demon asked. He was a bruiser looking type, bulky body covered in boils. When he grinned, he showed off a row of sharp teeth. “All you do all fucking day is drag this chain around behind you. It is like he  _ wants _ you to be punished.” 

“He does sir,” the angel answered. “He says if I’m an annoyance I’m allowed to be punished.” 

“Well shit.” The demon barked a laugh and lifted the chain off the ground. For a moment the angel looked relieved, like it was the first time he’d had someone else carry the weight for a while. 

Then the chain was lifted and brought down hard on the angel’s back. He crumpled beneath the hit and there was another one that came with a sickening crack. 

Aziraphale tried not to run, but he hurried. He hurried on quiet feet as he ran away from the terrifying scene as yet another crack resounded through the hallway, followed by the pitiful cry of the angel. Crowley could have done that to him. Crowley could be cruel if he wanted to. Oh, Heavens, Aziraphale  _ wanted _ Crowley so badly in that moment and he reached up to touch his collar. 

It was the worst scene he witnessed that morning, most other folks seeming content to go about their business. Some demons were flanked by multiple angels, collared and swathed in colors that matched their masters. Others were alone. Some angels were like him, wandering the halls with bags, looking for somewhere in particular, likely running errands. 

Down the hellish equivalent of an alleyway Aziraphale heard the sound of flesh slapping against flesh and someone begging softly to  _ please stop _ and  _ my master will kill you _ . He hurried onward. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t help, he had to push through the horrible things. The dread weighed on him even as he came up to a door labeled the Office of Completions. He could feel it in the air, the distress that lived all around him. 

He stepped into the office and found a rather bored demon sitting behind the desk. 

“Yes?” The demon asked as he scratched at an open sore on his face. There was a rat on his head. 

“I have these papers to turn in for Master Crowley,” he said as he presented the packet. The demon snatched it up and ripped it open, pulling out the contents. 

“Yes, mmhm,” he mumbled as he flipped through the paperwork. “Good, good, yes. Everything is in order. I have another batch for him to fill out I’m afraid.” He turned to the shelving unit behind him and grabbed another packet out of a box. Aziraphale realized that for some strange reason just the back of his head was shaved, despite having what appeared to be a perfectly normal haircut from the front. 

The demon turned and offered the packet to Aziraphale who tucked it into his bag. 

“Sign here,” he said, holding out a clipboard. 

“Of course.” Aziraphale signed in angelic runes and passed it back. The demon peered at the signature for a long moment before he nodded. 

“Dismissed.” 

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said and the demon did a double-take. 

“Er, uh, you’re welcome?” He called out behind Aziraphale as he left the office. 

_ That went well _ , Aziraphale thought. The good experience helped him put distance between the memory of the angel being whipped with a chain. He looked at the directions on the next task and began to wind his way through the halls. There were more demons roaming and some of their eyes followed Aziraphale as he did his best to ignore them. 

He belonged to Crowley. His collar would keep him safe. He touched the charm at his throat and it comforted him. 

It took longer than he thought it would to make his way to a quieter part of Hell. He stepped through a door that led to the Hellish equivalent of a C-Suite, office doors lining the walls. It reminded him of Heaven strangely enough and left him uncomfortable. Making his way to Dagon’s office he slipped inside and was greeted by yet another front desk worker, this one with an unclear gender. They, Aziraphale thought, looked surprisingly nice. They had an angled face and short, curly, dark hair, but no strange creatures on their head and no boils. 

“Hello,” Aziraphale greeted as he approached the desk. The demon looked him over. 

“You’re new,” they said. 

“Oh, yes uh, sir.” 

“Who do you work for?” Though their eyes immediately flicked to his throat. “Ah, Crowley.” 

“Yes,” Aziraphale answered, holding out the package. “I’m supposed to deliver this.” 

They took it from his hands and he noticed their fingernails were long and painted a vibrant pink. 

“Your nails are quite lovely,” he said. They looked at him curiously. 

“I suppose. You really are new, aren’t you?” They shook their head. “You’re lucky you belong to Crowley.” 

“I’ve been told that.” Now Aziraphale was beginning to believe it. 

“Package received, here is your receipt.” They handed him a piece of paper which he folded and tucked away in one of the pockets of the bag. 

“Thank you kindly,” Aziraphale said. “I’m afraid I don’t know your name?” 

“Jericho,” they replied. “And you?” 

“Aziraphale.” He offered up his hand. The demon looked at it, then looked back up at him and didn’t take it. Aziraphale dropped his hand. 

“You’re cute, so I’m going to share a piece of advice. Stop being so kind.” They frowned at him. “I don’t get paid enough to care about the Great War or the results and Lord Dagon isn’t so keen on that bullshit either, but we’re a minority. Until your master claims you properly you’re a walking target and if you keep being so soft, you’re going to end up hurt.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. He wasn’t entirely sure what they meant by that. “Sorry?” 

They made a disgusted noise. “Ask Crowley about it. Hurry on now, little angel. You shouldn’t linger.” 

“Yes sir,” Aziraphale murmured and hustled out, a creeping sensation settling over him. 

The creeping followed him as he meandered through the hallways toward the final stop of the day: some sort of shop to purchase crisps. What he failed to realize was that the creeping sensation was joined by actual creeping, only becoming aware of it when two demons stepped into his sight.

He recognized them only from Crowley’s past descriptions. Hastur and Ligur, wearing a toad and chameleon on their heads respectively. Hastur smirked, Ligur stared. 

“Sirs,” Aziraphale greeted as politely as he could, stopping in his tracks and forcing himself not to take a step backwards. 

“You’re Crowley’s new plaything aren’t you?” Hastur drawled, hands shoved into the pockets of his ratty, filthy coat. “Or thing, I suppose he ain’t played with you properly yet.” 

“Certainly, sirs. Along that vein I’m actually running an errand for him right now that’s a bit time sensitive so if you wouldn’t mind I’d rather like to pass.” Aziraphale did his best to put on the airs of an overworked retail associate. He’d blessed quite a few of them during his tenure on Earth. 

“You hear that Ligur? Little angel wants to pass. He thinks he’s hot shit just because his master is close to the antichrist. I feel like this little untouched angel deserves a lesson in what Hell is about, eh?” Hastur glanced at Ligur who gazed at Aziraphale hungrily. 

“I think yer right, Hastur,” Ligur said as he took a step forward. “I think we oughta teach this angel his place, break him in for his master.” 

Aziraphale’s heart began to race and he did take a step backward as Ligur approached. 

“Crowley probably hasn’t even touched him,” Hastur said from behind Ligur. “Bet his arse is tight and ready for the taking. Or has he got you sporting a cunt down there little angel?” 

_ That _ sent white hot panic through Aziraphale’s mind. Physical violence he had expected but that? He swallowed and took a few more steps backward, reaching up to touch his collar. 

“That ain’t gonna protect you,” Ligur taunted. 

“He’ll punish you,” Aziraphale sputtered. “I belong to Crowley, he protects me.” 

“Hear that Hastur?” Ligur called back with a laugh. “Do you see Crowley anywhere?” 

“No,” Hastur replied as he stepped forward. “Sure don’t.” 

Aziraphale glanced around. Other angels and demons passed by without even a glance in his direction. This, he realized, was par for the course. This was what life was after Heaven lost the apocalypse. 

He was scared. Truly scared.  _ Please, God, help me _ he thought, knowing She couldn’t likely hear him and if She could, there was little She could do. It brought him comfort anyway. 

Ligur pounced first, grabbing Aziraphale around the waist and yanking him back-to-chest. Aziraphale struggled, flailed, but Hastur came around and grabbed his arms. 

“What’s he got, Ligur?” Hastur asked with a sinister smile. 

“Let’s see ‘ere,” Ligur replied as his hand went between Aziraphale’s legs. “Oh! He’s got a cock! Look at that. Woulda preferred a cunt but this’ll do.” He groped Aziraphale. “Love a nice, tight arse.” 

“No!” Aziraphale shouted as Hastur reached up to tear at his tunic. Out of habit he reached for a miracle and cried out as pain burned from his neck down his spine. His vision went white with it and he was on the ground, two heavy bodies pressing down on him. There was a hand on the back of his neck holding his face against the floor, nails biting into his skin. 

The moment the worst of the burning faded he began to thrash but it was too late. He’d been pinned and one of them, he wasn’t sure who, was in the process of yanking down his trousers and pants. 

“This’ll teach Crowley not to act a proper demon,” Ligur grumbled from above him. Aziraphale realized he was the one sitting on his back, holding his face against the ground. “Thinks he’s above the rest a’us, flash bastard. Won’t even claim his property nice and proper like.” 

“His loss,” Hastur said as he got Aziraphale’s clothes down around his ankles and raked his fingernails over the backs of his thighs. Aziraphale jerked away, crying out, begging them to stop. 

“He’s beggin’!” Ligur howled with laughter. 

Then the hallway was silent and everything was still. 

“Shit,” he heard Ligur hiss. 

“What?” Hastur asked. 

More silence. 

“I will say this once,” it was Crowley’s voice, low, tense, and dangerous. “You will unhand my property or I will fucking discorporate you both right now.” 

Stillness became a flurry of motion as Hastur and Ligur scrambled away and Aziraphale was left face first on the ground, trembling. His trousers were still around his knees. He didn’t want to move. He heard a crackle and two shrieks, then the sound of retreating footsteps. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said quietly and Aziraphale could sense him crouching over him. He glanced over and saw the tips of black feathers, felt them tickle against his exposed legs, and Aziraphale tried to speak but found himself unable to. “It is alright,” Crowley assured him. “You’re alright.” 

With a snap, they appeared back in Crowley’s chambers. Aziraphale tugged up his pants and tried to quell his trembling. He checked to make sure the bag was still around his shoulders and when he didn’t find it began to panic. 

“The bag, Crowley, they must have -” 

“Hush,” Crowley said, voice firm in a way that made Aziraphale shut his mouth. “I have it, angel, you’re alright.” 

“They were, they were going to -” rape him. They were going to rape him. Violate him. It wasn’t just violence, it was personal violence. Intimate violence. Of course Aziraphale had smote his fair share of would-be rapists during his time on Earth but he’d never, in thousands of years, been the focus. Been the victim. Not like that. 

“Yes,” Crowley replied evenly. “They were. Welcome to Hell.” 

Aziraphale lowered himself onto his knees and took a few deep breaths. As he started to collect himself he realized his neck throbbed. “I tried...I tried to call for a miracle. I didn’t mean to. It just - I was  _ desperate _ .” 

“Shh.” Crowley crouched beside him. He reached out and ran his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair, but Aziraphale flinched back away from the touch. It was too close to the back of his neck, too close to being pinned. Crowley pulled his hand back. 

“I’m going to need to look at your neck,” he admitted. “What would help you right now, angel?” 

“I’ve been told twice today about being properly claimed,” Aziraphale stuttered out, avoiding the question. “What does that mean?” 

Crowley’s lips curled into a grimace as his brow furrowed. “Not something we should talk about right now, not while you’re in pain. Please, let me treat your neck and then I promise I’ll answer your question.” 

Aziraphale stared at him, reluctant to give up his pursuit but the pain eventually caught up to him. He closed his eyes against it and nodded. Crowley helped him to his feet, put a supporting arm around his waist, and walked him back to the sitting room. 

They settled on the couch, but this time Crowley miracled a stool and set it right in front of Aziraphale. He sat down on it and gently cupped Aziraphale’s face in his hands. 

“This is going to hurt a lot,” he admitted and Aziraphale pried his eyes open and stared into Crowley’s, finding nothing but sympathy. “Try to breathe through it and I promise it will feel better once the collar is off.” 

“Okay,” Aziraphale whispered. Crowley sighed and he could feel it warm against his cheek. 

“Here,” Crowley took Aziraphale’s hands and guided them to his knees. “Hold onto my trousers however tightly you need to. Even if you rip them I won’t care. Just try to hold on.” 

It made Aziraphale feel even worse about what was going to happen. 

Crowley reached up and gently unbuckled the collar. As he started to pull it away stinging, burning pain emanated from where it lay against his neck. His skin pulled uncomfortably and he realized that was because it was  _ dead _ skin, burned through. His fingers curled in Crowley’s trousers as he tried to bite back a pained noise. 

It hurt much worse than his wrists had. Much worse than anything that had happened to him yet in Hell. It  _ was _ Hell. This, right here, his skin being slowly pulled off to expose the raw layers beneath, burned by the hellfire magic in the damned collar. 

“I’m sorry,” he realized Crowley was saying but he couldn’t open his eyes to look at him. It took everything not to scream as his hands scrabbled at the fabric of Crowley’s trousers and he tried so hard to obey, to hold on. 

“Crowley,” he sobbed as the collar was peeled away. Then it was gone, tossed to the couch beside him, his neck exposed and aching in the air. It was as if every single one of his nerves had been personally set before a flame. His body hurt with it and he was beyond hearing, beyond speaking. 

The ointment didn’t help, neither did touch. He tried to struggle away, finally letting go of Crowley’s trousers but his wrists were gripped firmly and planted right back on Crowley’s knees. 

“Keep holding,” Crowley growled, sounding pained and miserable. Aziraphale tried. And then the soothing sensation came in the haze of the pain, chasing away the burning. It was like putting ice on a burn, soothing, calming. His hands relaxed against Crowley’s trouser legs and he slumped forward. 

“That’s it,” Crowley whispered into his hair as he guided Aziraphale’s forehead to his shoulder. “You’re alright.” 

Aziraphale blacked out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New updates every Tuesday & Friday! Come hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/).


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale deals with the aftermath of his assault in the halls of Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update! Due to unforeseen circumstances (a mentor and friend of mine has been fighting brain cancer since the summer and this week took a sharp turn for the worstle and is on hospice) I'm flying back to my home state of Oregon bright and early tomorrow morning. As such, I thought you all would prefer an early update as opposed to a later one. 
> 
> Thank you so much for the feedback. It is exciting to see so many people jiving with what I'm writing! The feedback fuels me.

Aziraphale blinked awake with a soft groan. He ached. 

“Don’t move around too much,” Crowley said quietly, carding fingers through Aziraphale’s hair. As the world came back into focus Aziraphale realized he was still on the couch, his head on a pillow in Crowley’s lap. 

“This alright?” Crowley asked, hand stilling. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale mumbled, closing his eyes again. Crowley’s hand resumed its petting. 

“You’ve only been out for about an hour. It gave me a chance to do another round of ointment and healing. It won’t make it heal faster, but it should keep you comfortable for a while.” Aziraphale couldn’t see Crowley but he could hear the uncertainty in his voice. 

“What’s wrong dear boy?” Aziraphale asked quietly, lacking the energy to add  _ sir _ to anything. Perhaps when he was more awake and less pained. Crowley seemed to let it go this time. 

“You asked about claiming earlier,” Crowley reminded him. “I promised you I’d explain it.” 

“A demon keeping a promise? What a world we live in.” Aziraphale didn’t mean it. Crowley had never lied to him outside of little white lies in their tenure as friends. He was true to his word. Crowley rubbed his scalp in a way that had Aziraphale tilting his head back into the touch with a little sigh. 

“Heh.” Crowley was silent and Aziraphale finally opened his eyes to peer up at him. 

“I’ll sit up, perhaps, so we can discuss it properly.” Aziraphale struggled up and Crowley’s hands pushed against his back, helping him into a sitting position. 

“Careful,” he warned. “Your neck is going to be sensitive for a bit.” 

“What about the collar?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley sighed. 

“I’m letting the ointment do its work before I put it back on you.” 

“Not afraid I’ll use my powers?” Aziraphale wanted it to be a tease, but he saw a serious look cross Crowley’s face. 

“The collar is just one measure, angel,” he said gently. “If you tried to use your powers here, in my home, it wouldn’t go well for you.” 

“Ah.” Good information to have, but it took the wind out of Aziraphale’s sails. “So claiming?” 

Once again Crowley grimaced. “It isn’t pleasant. It is...how demons exert ultimate dominance over their slaves. It is brutal, painful, a demon can easily lose control and it is ugly.” He shook his head. “It came about after the end of the world. Angels were given to demons and demons did as they are wont to do.” 

“And you need to do it to me,” Aziraphale said, trying to follow. Crowley looked momentarily horrified. 

“No!” He all but yelped before regaining his composure. “I wouldn’t. I can’t. No, angel, I’m not going to do that to you. It is all bullshit anyway, posturing…” 

“But Hastur and Ligur were going to rape me,” Aziraphale pointed out. “And you claiming me would have stopped that.” 

Crowley stared hard at him. “Yes. They would have respected it. But it isn’t something I want to be respected for, Aziraphale.” 

“What if I told you I wanted it? What if it would keep me safe so I can run the errands you need me to run?” 

Crowley shook his head and stood, the energy bubbling out of him. “No,  _ no _ . I’m not going to sink to their level. I didn’t  _ want _ an angel, because I didn’t want any of this. I’m not going to force you into that situation.” 

“You’re not forcing me,” Aziraphale insisted, standing as well. “I’m asking you to do it.” 

“Only because you don’t understand what it is!” Crowley snarled, throwing his hands up in the air. “I am not going to do it and that is  _ final _ , Aziraphale.” 

“Then I can’t step out of this house,” Aziraphale said quietly. “I can’t leave this place because I’ll get jumped and then where will we be?” 

“Then stay,” Crowley bit out. “But I refuse.” 

This wouldn’t work, couldn’t work. Aziraphale needed to be able to leave the premises without the persistent threat of bodily harm. He would never be able to set things right if he was stuck in Crowley’s home all day. 

“Crowley -” 

“That’s  _ sir _ to you,” Crowley growled. “Stop acting so familiar. You are my slave, act like it! I’m going to bed.” He stomped down the hallway, no doubt unaware of how ridiculous he looked. But Aziraphale couldn’t take the time to be amused because he was hurrying after him. 

“Sir, please.” But the door to the bedroom was slammed before he could reach it and he did not dare to push through. He stared at the painted door for a long moment before letting out a frustrated noise and heading to the kitchen. He aggressively put the kettle on, willing the water to boil as he dug around the kitchen for something to eat. 

Eventually Aziraphale settled with crackers, cheese, and tea. He nibbled, his stomach a bit topsy turvy after the events of the day. If he dwelled on them too long he swore he could feel Ligur pressing him down into the ground and Hastur yanking down his trousers. He shuddered and held his tea closer, inhaling the steam, seeking any and all comfort he could. 

It wasn’t much.

Aziraphale ate what he could stomach and put away the rest, making sure to set up the coffee maker before he went into his bedroom. He changed into pajamas and sat on the bed, back against the headboard with his journal propped up on his lap. He ran his fingers over the first blank page before he reached over and picked up one of the pens. 

Aziraphale began to write. He wrote about his first days in Hell, about Crowley, he wrote about end-of-the-world memories, and wrote his feelings. By the time he was done he’d filled nearly eight pages and set it aside, picking up the battered copy of  _ The Canterbury Tales _ . He sank down into the bed and fell asleep with the lamp on, deep into one of the stories. 

In his dreams Crowley didn’t arrive in time. 

He woke up with a panicked cry, dropping the book off the side of the bed and scrambling up. His whole body shook as he gathered up one of the blankets to his chest. No, he was safe. He was in his room, in Crowley’s home in one piece despite his aching throat. 

“Angel?” A quiet voice followed a soft knock. 

“C-come in,” Aziraphale said. The door opened slowly and Crowley stepped inside dressed in his own pajamas. His eyes swept the room and then landed on Aziraphale. 

“Sir,” Aziraphale inclined his head, clutching the blanket. “I’m sorry for waking you.” 

“No,” Crowley shook his head. “Don’t be. Nightmare?” 

Aziraphale nodded. “Just a dream.” 

“I’m going to figure out another way,” Crowley said after the quiet stretched between them. “I haven’t thought of it yet but I’ll figure out a way to protect you that doesn’t involve hurting you. I swear.” 

“Right.” Aziraphale worried the blanket between his hands. 

“Stay here tomorrow. Clean, cook, read. Don’t leave.” Aziraphale glanced over at Crowley who looked a little lost himself. 

“Right, er - yes, sir.” 

Crowley walked toward the bed and bent down to retrieve the book, offering it to Aziraphale. “Were you reading this?” 

“I fell asleep reading it, yes,” Aziraphale answered as he reached out to accept it. 

“Would you care for me to read to you? Until you fall asleep.” Crowley fidgeted. “Perhaps it will keep the nightmares at bay.” 

“I would like that very much sir,” Aziraphale whispered. This universe’s Crowley continued to surprise him. There was hope, perhaps. 

“Budge over, then.” Crowley sat on the bed. “Lay down, head in my lap like earlier. You liked it when I pet your hair didn’t you?” 

Aziraphale was certain he was blushing but he complied, shifting down to rest his head on a pillow Crowley placed on his lap. One of Crowley’s hands rested on his head and he began to pet him, opening the book to the page Aziraphale dog eared. 

“Comfortable?” Crowley asked. 

“Quite.” Aziraphale closed his eyes and Crowley began to read. He didn’t have any other nightmares that night and when he woke up in the morning Crowley was gone and the book lay on the nightstand. It was enough to make him wonder if that had all been a dream too.

He set to making breakfast, cracking a few eggs into a sizzling pan. It was nice, the routine. Crowley was gone, no doubt working and had left Aziraphale to his own whims and desires. Once his morning breakfast and tea were consumed he cleaned the kitchen and tidied up the sitting room. He ensured both his and Crowley’s beds were made and that the bathrooms were in good condition. 

It took a couple hours in all for him to fuss with this and that until the house was in order. He spent the rest of the afternoon in the library reading, grateful for a rather decent selection of novels. As the day grew late he tore himself away from a book of poetry and returned to the kitchen to begin thinking about dinner. 

He also thought about claiming and how he could convince Crowley to get it over with. It was the only way he would be able to leave, but for Crowley to get so angry over the mere suggestion told him it was going to be an uphill battle. Why did claiming have to be such a bad thing? He still didn’t understand it fully. 

He made tacos that evening. Or, at least, his very best impression of tacos. He had not been a good cook in his previous life but had picked up a thing or two from human companions. It would have to do. 

Crowley came home as he was plating up food. 

“Hungry?” He asked from the kitchen and Crowley stepped in and looked around. 

“Could eat.” 

Aziraphale looked over and immediately frowned. Crowley’s face was drawn and he looked upset. 

“Is everything alright sir?” Aziraphale set the plates on the table and Crowley slumped down into one of the chairs. 

“We’ve been summoned,” Crowley said, waving his hand. A glass of wine appeared on the table. 

“Summoned?” Aziraphale sat down across from him and spread a napkin over his lap. 

“Prince Beelzebub would like a word with us tomorrow afternoon. I’m afraid it is non negotiable.” 

“And you think this is a bad thing?” Aziraphale watched as Crowley took a long drink from his glass. 

“Beelzebub isn’t exactly the friendliest person I’ve ever known, Aziraphale. They’re the one who gifted you to me, but I wouldn’t say they’re fond.” Crowley finished off the wine and the glass refilled. Aziraphale profoundly missed the ability to use miracles. 

“Are we in trouble?” 

“Don’t know. Won’t know until tomorrow afternoon when we see them.” Crowley set his wine glass down and rubbed at his face. “No use in fretting over it now, anyway. Thank you for dinner.” He picked up one of the tacos and took a bite. 

Aziraphale ate quietly. There was still tension in the air and he wondered if Crowley realized it, too. He decided not to mention claiming, not until their meeting with Beelzebub was done the following day.

They ate dinner in silence and Crowley drained the second glass of wine but didn’t miracle a third. “I should see to your neck tonight,” he said. “Another round of healing. And I’ll need to put your collar back on.” 

“Of course, sir.” Aziraphale replied as he dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “Allow me to clean up and then I will -” 

“No, let - er, let me. You’ve been here all day cleaning. I can tidy up after dinner.” Crowley grabbed the plates up and walked over to the sink, once again cleaning everything by hand despite being more than capable of miracling them all clean. 

Aziraphale wondered if it had the same grounding effect for Crowley as it did for him.

He pushed in both of their chairs and let his gaze linger on Crowley for only a moment before he headed into the study. Crowley soon followed, pulling the stool in front of where he sat on the couch. Crowley reached up and took Aziraphale’s chin between his fingers, using the grip to move Aziraphale’s head this way and that, inspecting the wounds around his neck. 

“How does it feel?” Crowley asked. 

“Achey,” Aziraphale admitted. “A bit itchy, too.” 

“That means it has started healing at least. Might take one or two more rounds to heal this one. The skin on your neck is a bit more sensitive than your wrists.” He miracled the now-familiar ointment and began to gently apply it. Aziraphale breathed through his nose and closed his eyes, focusing on the eventual cool touch that would come to help push through the discomfort. 

Eventually the chill wrapped around his neck and he let out a contented sigh. Crowley ran a clean hand through Aziraphale’s hair. 

“That’s right, relax,” he murmured, holding onto his chin for a moment more before releasing it. Aziraphale, with his eyes closed, heard the familiar clink of his collar. His eyes fluttered open. 

“I know,” Crowley frowned. “But I had it cleaned up and had a coating added to the inside that will hopefully prevent that from ever happening again. The magic will still work but it shouldn’t...eugh. Stick to your skin, yeah?” 

“Right. Yes.” Aziraphale let out a slow breath. “Right.” 

“I know you didn’t receive the orientation or information about any of this,” Crowley began softly. “But there’s usually - at least, for masters who give a shit - a bit of a ritual that goes with collaring someone. Most don’t, but I wanted to do this the first time and out of necessity didn’t get the chance.” 

“Do what?” Aziraphale asked. “Sir,” he tacked on quickly. Crowley looked momentarily amused. 

“Come,” Crowley moved the stool away and took a few steps back before he motioned to the floor. “Would you get on your knees?” 

Aziraphale stared at him and Crowley watched him, guarded, nervous, worrying the collar in his hands. “I won’t force this, angel,” Crowley said. “But will you trust me?” 

_ I already do _ , Aziraphale thought. He nodded and stood only to step closer and then sank obediently onto his knees. One of Crowley’s hands carded through his hair again. 

“With this collar I claim you,” Crowley said softly. “You are mine to protect for as long as you serve me.” He leaned down and put the collar around the back of Aziraphale’s neck. His hands came around to the front and he nudged Aziraphale’s chin up gently so that they could make eye contact as his fingers worked the buckle closed. 

The weight of the leather settled comfortably around Aziraphale’s neck and he let go of the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. 

“It is a fetching collar, you know,” Crowley pointed out. “You wear it well.” 

Aziraphale was certain the compliment had him blushing. Crowley fidgeted, his confidence waning. 

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to make it weird.” 

“You didn’t,” Aziraphale replied with what he hoped was a comforting smile. “I’m glad I please you.” 

Crowley made a choking noise and glanced away, his own cheeks turning red. Aziraphale couldn’t hold back a little grin. He remained on his knees peering up at Crowley until Crowley looked back at him and reached forward to run his fingers through his hair again. Aziraphale leaned into it. 

“Right.” Crowley licked his lips and pulled his hand back. “Come on, up you go. No need to stay on your knees.” 

Aziraphale got back up to his feet with a little huff of effort, Crowley’s eyes never once leaving him. 

“What happens tomorrow?” Aziraphale asked. 

“I’ve got some things to do during the first part of the day. Then I’ll come collect you and we’ll go see what Lord Beelzebub wants from us.” Crowley sighed. “Just...if possible, let me do most of the talking? I know them, I can usually hold my own in a conversation with them.” 

“Right.” Aziraphale remembered Beelzebub from the defunct airbase at the end of the world, standing alongside Gabriel as they both tried to convince Adam to live up to his purpose. He couldn’t say he was looking forward to meeting them again, especially when he didn’t have any sort of high ground. 

“It’ll be alright, angel,” Crowley insisted. “Believe me, if this was going to be about some sort of punishment then it would be public. We’ve been summoned to a private meeting. It is probably some bullshit paperwork or something.” 

“I’ll have to trust you on that,” Aziraphale admitted. “But I dearly hope your instincts are right.” 

The rest of the evening went by casually. Aziraphale set up the coffee pot for the next morning while Crowley hovered, quietly fretting. He’d known him long enough to recognize the signs. 

“I could read to you again,” Crowley said when Aziraphale returned to the sitting room in his pajamas. “You know, if you’d like that.” 

“You’re very kind,” Aziraphale pointed out and Crowley made a face. 

“Hardly kind,” he grumbled. “I just don’t want to be woken up by your terrified screams again.” 

Aziraphale knew it was a defense but it still stung a small bit. He grimaced. He didn’t  _ want _ to have nightmares, he didn’t even want to sleep most nights. But being in Hell drained him and he had little choice in the matter. 

“I didn’t mean that,” Crowley said quickly. “I’m sorry.” He stood up from where he’d been sitting and crossed over to Aziraphale. “I don’t want you to have bad dreams.” 

“You don’t need to apologize, I understand. I would like it if you would read to me again.” 

“In your bed?” Crowley asked, then looked as if he regretted the question. 

“Wherever you would like me, sir,” he smiled. 

“Right. Er. Your bed, then, if only because it’ll be easier than trying to carry you in there if you fall asleep out here.” 

Crowley disappeared briefly to change into his own pajamas and eventually met Aziraphale in his bedroom. Aziraphale had already shifted over to make room and Crowley resumed his position from the previous night, Aziraphale’s head in his lap, hand in his hair. 

“Thank you Crowley,” Aziraphale said as he settled. 

“Don’t mention it, angel,” Crowley mumbled as he began to read. Aziraphale closed his eyes and imagined they were back in the bookshop, on his old dusty couch, warm from wine and good companionship. It was a nice vision, one that rocked him sleep to the gentle cadence of Crowley’s voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be **Tuesday**. Then back to our regular Tuesday & Friday schedule!
> 
> Come find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/).


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale meets with Beelzebub and then provokes Crowley into doing something he believes he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning! I wanted to take a moment and say thank you to everyone who wished me well when visiting my friend. I got back from Oregon last night and am glad I went. I got to have a long conversation with him very early one morning and then got to talk TO him on another morning when he was conscious, but not able to really speak back to me. It is heartbreaking, but I'm so, so grateful I got to see him and I'm grateful for all of your kindness, too. 
> 
> This latest chapter has a **content warning:** this is where dub-con comes into full effect. There's a lot of factors at play that make consent very difficult, and Aziraphale and Crowley end up having a semi-violent/rough explicit claiming scene. I try, as always, to be as forthright about the themes that will be playing out in this story because I want people to be informed as they're reading! Please let me know if anyone thinks I've missed a tag, or if there's a way I can be clearer. 
> 
> Thanks as always to Kazeetie who catches all the little things I miss, and who lets me ramble about this story!

Crowley was gone come morning, coffee consumed and no list of tasks left behind. Aziraphale made their beds and occupied himself with the kitchen cupboards, taking stock of what was available to him. For someone who didn’t cook, Crowley kept a well stocked kitchen, not that Aziraphale should be surprised. He’d always been the type to have nice things even if he didn’t use them. 

Aziraphale would try to find ways to make use of it all, he decided. He wondered if Crowley could come across cookbooks somewhere. 

As the day dragged on, Aziraphale took time to shower and get properly dressed. He donned Crowley’s colors and peered at himself in the mirror, fussing with his hair. He wanted to look presentable for Beelzebub, not wanting to leave anything to chance. When he’d done all he could do he returned to the kitchen and made a late lunch, remembering Crowley’s instructions to keep up with his meals. 

It was when he was nearly finished that the door opened and shut. Crowley appeared in the kitchen soon after. He paused and looked pleased to see Aziraphale eating. 

“Good, you’ve had lunch. Tidy up and we’ll get going. We don’t want to be late for this.” 

“Yes, sir,” Aziraphale popped the last crisp into his mouth and took the dishes over to wash them, setting them on the rack. He pulled on shoes and with that, he and Crowley stepped out into the hallway. 

Aziraphale froze, panic rising as he glanced around the empty hallway. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, a hand coming to rest against his lower back. “It is alright, you’re with me. No one will hurt you when you’re by my side.” 

He fought back the memories of being pinned to the ground. 

“Deep breaths,” Crowley insisted. “That’s right, good angel.” 

With enough deep breaths Aziraphale was able to relax. He looked at Crowley who watched him, concern written across his face. “You will want to walk a couple paces behind me but you’ll be alright. I promise no one will be allowed to lay a hand on you.” 

“Of course.” He nodded. He had no choice, right? They needed to get to Beelzebub. “Could you miracle us there?” Aziraphale asked quietly. 

Crowley smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Yes, alright. I can’t do it all the time but this once I’ll get us close.” He reached out and touched Aziraphale’s arm and they appeared in an unfamiliar part of Hell. Aziraphale glanced around. 

“Walk behind me angel,” Crowley instructed. “We don’t have far to go.” He began to walk and Aziraphale allowed him to get a few paces ahead before he followed diligently. There were other demons in this part of the endless hallways of Hell. Some had their eyes trained on Crowley, others on Aziraphale. He passed a few angels he did not recognize who watched him curiously before their attention was dragged back by their masters. 

Some of them watched him with dead eyes and he tried not to shudder, eyes on Crowley’s heels whenever he could manage it as he followed him. He nearly ran into him when he came to a sharp stop in front of a door. It was labeled with Beelzebub’s name and title. 

Aziraphale rushed forward to open the door for Crowley who gave him an approving look. He had to remember he was a slave, this was the sort of behavior that would be expected. Crowley stepped through and Aziraphale followed. 

“The demon Crowley,” the receptionist said. “Lord Beelzebub is expecting you.” She was a grungy looking sort in Aziraphale’s opinion, reminiscent of a teenager in the 90s who decided they wanted to join a garage band. It made sense, given who her boss was. Like drawn to like and all that. 

“Actually I’m expecting the angel,” Beelzebub said, stepping out from a door that Aziraphale presumed led to a back office. They looked about the same as they always had, flies buzzing around their head, clothes in disarray, sash draped across their chest. “Sorry, Crowley, but I need a word with your slave.” 

“Sorry?” Crowley, whether he realized it or not, stepped in front of Aziraphale and between him and Beelzebub. “Why do you need to see him alone?” 

Beelzebub looked bored. “Because I need to speak with the angel. I understand he belongs to you, Crowley. No harm will come to him.” 

Aziraphale poked his head around from behind Crowley. “It is alright,” he insisted. 

“I didn’t ask you,” Crowley insisted right back with a scowl. Aziraphale tried to look appropriately chastised but Crowley sounded too prissy for him to really be affected. 

“Crowley,” Beelzebub said, getting his attention. “I wouldn’t have gifted him to you if I wanted him.” 

“Right.” Crowley still looked uncertain and Aziraphale enjoyed his possessive, protective posture. 

“Come, Aziraphale.” Beelzebub reached behind them and opened a door, holding it. Aziraphale cast a glance at Crowley who frowned but nodded. Aziraphale crossed the distance, glanced at Beelzebub, then stepped through the door. “You can wait here, Crowley. It won’t be a long conversation.” 

The door closed behind Beelzebub. Surprisingly their office, though dark, was warm. There were dim flickering lights in the corners that mimicked candles but there was no actual fire. They had a large stone desk with papers scattered across it and behind that a stone throne with a pillow. There were a pair of far more comfortable office chairs in front of the desk. 

“Have a seat,” Beelzebub insisted, motioning toward the chairs as they made their way around the desk and took a seat on the stone throne. 

Aziraphale sat carefully in one of the chairs, surprised to find they really were comfortable. He crossed one leg over the other and rested his hands on his knee. He stared across the expanse of the stone desk right at Beelzebub. 

“You look well,” Beelzebub said. “I assume Crowley treats you kindly?” 

“Would saying yes get him in trouble, sir?” Aziraphale asked and Beelzebub smirked. 

“Not with me. I gave you to him for a reason.” Beezelbub sat back in their chair and mimicked Aziraphale’s posture. They crossed their arms over their chest. “What do you know about him?” 

A strange question, Aziraphale thought. He frowned before he could school his features and Beelzebub caught it. “Not much?” Aziraphale offered, the lie thick on his tongue. 

“Aziraphale, I’d appreciate it if we could be candid in this room. I believe you and I might be more similar than you may initially think.” Beelzebub sighed and picked nervously at their nails before looking back at Aziraphale. “Tell me what you know about the end of the world.” 

“It happened,” Aziraphale answered. “And Adam Young is ruling over the Earth, I assume.” 

“Adam Young?” Beelzebub asked, eyebrows raised. Aziraphale scrambled, his heart stopping for a moment. 

“I meant  _ Dowling _ . I apologize. There’s so many names…” His heart started pounding in his chest. 

“I don’t think that’s what has you confused.” Something in Beelzebub’s posture eased and they uncrossed their legs and leaned forward. “You remember, then.” 

“Remember what precisely, sir?” 

“The end of the world that wasn’t,” Beezlebub replied. Aziraphale’s eyes widened. 

“I’m not sure -” 

“Please, Aziraphale,” now there was emotion in Beelzebub’s voice, a slight deviation from their usual commanding monotone. “In this we are one, and perhaps the only ones. I remember it too and something has gone wrong.” 

The room grew quiet and Aziraphale sat back in the chair after realizing he’d been leaning forward. He looked up at the ceiling, searching for something. Answers, maybe. There was just dry stone. 

“What do you remember?” Aziraphale asked, dropping any pretenses. 

“The airfield, Adam Young and his friends, me and Gabriel demanding he follow his destiny, cocking up the end of the world. I remember all of it, Azzziraphale. Yet I woke up down here in Hell thinking one thing only to realize I’ve been thrown into an entirely different world.” Beelzebub frowned deeply. “And I’ve been having dreamszz about  _ you _ .” 

“Dreams?” It returned to Aziraphale then, the important dream that faded upon waking. Beelzebub was in it. A sense of deja vu came over him. “Oh dear.” 

“Yes.” Beelzebub removed their hat and ran fingers through their hair. 

“But shouldn’t you be pleased?” Aziraphale asked. “Your side won.” 

“It is a hollow victory,” Beelzebub replied. “It isn’t real. And to be frank, this…” They hesitated. “It is wrong. It is like a coat that’s two sizzzes too small but you’re forced to wear it anyway because it is cold.” 

“Why do we remember?” Aziraphale knew Beelzebub didn’t have answers but it was a relief to finally be able to ask  _ someone _ . 

“I don’t know. I had hoped Crowley did too, since he was there that day. That’s why I orchestrated this whole thing, for you to be given to him when you appeared in our dungeonszz. I thought perhaps he’d open up to you but I assume he hasn’t?” Beelzebub watched him. 

“He doesn’t remember,” Aziraphale shook his head, looking down. “I thought he did too, that this was some sort of rescue mission. Unfortunately the reality is far less glamorous.” 

“I had hoped the same about Gabriel, but he doesn’t recall anything either. He sits in my home sulking all day.” Beelzebub shuddered. “It isn’t right. We should be adversaries not...whatever this iszz.” 

“You have Gabriel?” Aziraphale asked, surprised. 

“Yes. I had to pull a lot of strings to claim an archangel slave but I didn’t want him falling into the wrong hands.” Beelzebub shrugged. “You’re not the only one who is fond of their adversary, angel. I don’t enjoy seeing him as he is.” 

Aziraphale imagined if roles were reversed, he wouldn’t enjoy seeing Crowley as a captured slave either. He nodded. “I see. So it is just us as far as we can tell. What about Adam?” 

Beelzebub looked conflicted. “Crowley is the one that’s been closest to him since the end of the world. To be honest I haven’t had the time nor excuse to go topside again to see what’s going on. Has he mentioned anything?” 

Aziraphale shook his head. “We haven’t really spoken about it. I didn’t want to raise suspicion. He was already concerned that I didn’t go through some sort of orientation.” At those words, Beelzebub grimaced. 

“Be glad you haven’t. Things have been a bit out of control around here since our victory. It is harder to maintain order, and sometimes those of us in management have a difficult time convincing the rest about why we ought to maintain the status quo. The orientation, which you’ve thankfully missed, is a brutal thing for angels.” Beelzebub scrubbed a hand over their face. “I’m even more glad I put you with Crowley, not that there was any other choice.” 

“Indeed.” Aziraphale swallowed and tried not to wonder too much about what it was that he missed. “So what do we do?” 

“Gather information, I think. You need to figure out how to get to Earth and Crowley is your best bet at that. Get close to him, gain his trust, I’ll try to figure out a reason for him to go to earth. You just have to make sure he doesn’t have a good reason to leave you behind when he does.” Beelzebub tapped their fingers against their desk in thought. “Adam is likely our best lead but getting to him won’t be easy. Crowley has the best access of any demon but the Horsemen are still in play and they tend to be protective.” 

Aziraphale’s mind began to churn through options. If he could get a better handle on the environment he was dealing with maybe he could begin to chip away at a reason to go to earth. However in his current state he was stuck staying in the house unless Crowley could accompany him, and that would make finding information difficult. 

“What are you thinking?” Beelzebub asked. 

“I’m thinking I need to figure out a way to get Crowley to claim me so that I can walk freely in the halls without fear of being assaulted,” Aziraphale answered plainly. There was no point in pulling punches, not if he and Beelzebub were throwing their hats in the ring together. 

Beelzebub looked grim. “Do you understand what claiming is, Aziraphale?” 

“I assume it involves fornication?” Aziraphale replied. 

Beelzebub scoffed. “In part, sure. But that strips away its significance.” 

“Significance? Do tell.” 

“Do you remember much before the Fall, angel?” Beelzebub asked and for a moment sounded as old as Aziraphale knew they all were. “Perhaps not, as Principalities were a slightly later creation. We had a way of connecting to each other,  _ bonding _ is what it was referred to. It was as much biological as emotional.” 

Aziraphale remembered. The word tickled some far part of his memory. “Michael and Lucifer.” 

“Yes,” Beelzebub looked sad for a moment. “They were, perhaps, the best example of it. And the reason after the Fall it was a practice that was discontinued. Shut off, really, I think. A failed experiment.” 

“Right.” Aziraphale didn’t follow. “And that has something to do with claiming?” 

“Mm. Claiming is a bastardization of the old process. I only know about it because I had to learn as much as I could in the circumstances I was thrust into and it wasn’t something we practiced in Hell before now. Something about the apocalypse dug it back up again, or perhaps it is just demonic creativity rearing its ugly head, I’m not sure. But Crowley doesn’t want to do it because he won’t be fully himself when he doeszz.” Beelzebub shrugged. “I won’t do it to Gabriel, either.” 

“Did he ask you to?” Aziraphale inquired. 

“No,” Beelzebub replied and looked distinctly uncomfortable. “He has no desire to go anywhere or do anything so there’s no reason for it.” 

“Unfortunately I’ve asked and Crowley still refuses.” Aziraphale frowned. 

“I can’t blame him. He’s a good demon, but he’s not cruel. At least not on the micro level. He prefers his cruelty to be seen in the ripples of his actions, not direct relationships.” Beelzebub sighed. “He won’t be entirely Crowley if you can incite him and get him to take you, Aziraphale. I’m not going to pretend there’s any ounce of what was once love in the act as it stands now. But if he claims you it will offer you some protection in these halls.” 

Aziraphale tried to picture how Crowley could be anyone except himself and struggled to do so. “What do you mean that he won’t be himself?” 

“It makes us a little feral,” Beelzebub admitted. “I’ve not experienced but I’ve seen it. It isn’t terribly uncommon for a demon to claim their angel publicly. We’re  _ demons _ Aziraphale. We deal in pain and discomfort and jealousy and possessiveness at our core. Sometimes it is impossible to fight that instinct.” 

“Would I be permanently harmed?” 

“No. But the claim is temporary. It lasts for a few days and then you have to be reclaimed. It allows for slaves to be passed around to different masters, but I’m not entirely sure what the biological basis is for it. From what I recall of bonding, it was lasting. This is…” Beelzebub shook their head. “Something elszze.” 

“I see.” None of this settled easily with Aziraphale. It was a little like looking into a fire you knew you had to jump through to survive. “How do I get him to do it?” 

“That I can’t answer you,” Beelzebub replied. “You know him better than anyone in this world, Aziraphale. I trust you’ll figure it out.” 

“Right. So I’ve got to get Crowley to hurt me so that I can try to track down information and ingratiate myself enough to get taken up to earth once you figure out a good reason for him to go up there, to check on Adam and see if he has any idea why everything has gotten buggered. Is that correct?” Aziraphale stared at Beelzebub as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Indeed. That sounds like the plan so far.” Beelzebub shrugged. “It is the best we can do.” 

“Splendid.” Aziraphale felt anything but glad, though having a plan gave him something to hold onto. “And how do I relay information to you?” 

“I’ll call you, Aziraphale.” Beelzebub smirked. “Best keep our relationship on the down-low if you can.” 

“Of course.” Then he hesitated. “What do I tell Crowley?” 

“That I’m the reason you got to avoid orientation and in return, I get to have conversations with you. You could also tell him you’re a spy for me, might put him on edge enough to stop asking questions.” Beelzebub’s smirk shifted into a sly grin. “Perhaps not the last part if trust is our end game, though.” 

“Is that all?” Aziraphale asked, standing.

“For now.” Beelzebub stood as well. 

“It is nice,” Aziraphale said after a moment. “To not be alone in this. To not have to put on an act.” 

“Despite being better suited to all of this than you, Aziraphale, I’m inclined to agree. Try to keep the act up when you see me outside of these wallszz.” Beelzebub walked to the door and opened it, ending the conversation. 

Aziraphale gave them a nod before he stepped out into the waiting room where Crowley still stood, stopped mid-pace as he looked over. There was relief written across his face and it warmed Aziraphale. 

“Alright?” He asked gruffly as Aziraphale walked over. 

“Yes, sir.” He stepped up to Crowley and both of them glanced back at Beelzebub. 

“You’re both dismissed,” Beelzebub said and turned to disappear back into their office. Crowley ushered Aziraphale out and once they were back in the halls, Aziraphale trailed behind him. There was less panic in his chest, less tension in his shoulders. Everything seemed slightly more bearable with the knowledge that he wasn’t alone. 

He heard a couple demons muse to themselves about his lack of claim and felt their eyes on him, a hunger radiating off of them. Aziraphale could feel it even with his powers repressed and it made him shudder. Instead of looking he kept his eyes on Crowley’s heels again, turning his conversation with Beelzebub over and over in his head. 

Surprisingly they arrived back at Crowley’s home in record time and he nearly bumped into him, he was so focused on his thoughts. 

“Sorry,” he said quickly as he took a step back. 

“S’fine,” Crowley replied as he opened the door and stepped inside. Aziraphale followed. 

“What did Beelzebub want?” Crowley asked once they were safely inside and he’d removed his jacket. 

“Not a lot,” Aziraphale answered, remembering just how bad he is at lying. He also recalled the words Crowley said when they first met: he’d know. Aziraphale grimaced as Crowley’s eyes remained trained on his face. 

“Right.” Crowley motioned for him to continue. “Feel free to tell me the lie they gave you, then tell me the truth.” 

“You wouldn’t believe the truth,” Aziraphale admitted. “What I can say is Beelzebub is the reason I didn’t have to complete orientation and why I was given to you. They were checking up on me, unlike them I know, but they think I might be of use to them at some point.” 

It wasn’t a complete lie. Crowley seemed to realize that. “Fine. That’s...fine.” 

“I’ll likely be summoned again. It would be helpful if I could go alone.” Aziraphale knew it was a bad idea, knew he shouldn’t bring this up having just told a half-truth, but he wondered…

“Aziraphale,” there was a note of warning in Crowley’s tone. 

“I know you don’t want to do it Crowley but I can’t hide away in here forever, and I certainly can’t rely on you to escort me everywhere. If we’re going to be  _ this _ then you ought to be in it entirely.” Aziraphale watched Crowley’s shoulders tense, his entire attention zeroing in on him. 

He could take it. He would have to take it. 

“Can you imagine Hastur and Ligur raping me, Crowley?” He let the words hang in the air and watched as Crowley’s lips twitched into a soft snarl. 

“You should call me  _ sir _ ,” he growled. 

“Make me,” Aziraphale replied tartly. “I’m sure Ligur and Hastur would as their hands tore at my clothes. They’d make me beg them to stop, make me call them sir and ask for kinder treatment. How does that make you feel, Crowley? Your property being violated, your collar being ripped off my neck, their marks being put on me instead?” 

“Stop this Aziraphale,” Crowley’s voice was low and feral as he prowled forward. “You don’t understand what you’re doing.” 

“Would they even bother preparing me, do you think? Maybe Ligur wanted me to have a-” this is where he faltered, having trouble getting the word out. He wasn’t made for language like this. “A  _ cunt _ . A little more give. But no, they would tear down my pants and shove themselves into me without a thought to my comfort I imagine. They would rip me apart without a care in the -”

He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as the wind was knocked out of him. 

Aziraphale was shoved up against the wall, Crowley’s hand on his chest, his face mere inches away. “Is this what you want, Aziraphale?” Crowley hissed as he pressed his body flush to Aziraphale’s. “You’d rather it be my mouth on your sssskin, my teeth digging into you, my nails clawing you, my cock in your asssss, hm?” 

Aziraphale shuddered and closed his eyes. He was losing his will. It was one thing to know he needed this, another to actually face it down. He was standing in front of the fire again about to jump through. 

“You want to be claimed? Brutalized? You want me to be the evil beasssst you think I am? Fine,  _ fine _ .” Crowley roughly turned Aziraphale around and shoved him hard against the wall. Aziraphale yelped as his face was smashed into it. “I’ll claim you. Then when Ligur and Hastur lay their eyessss on you they’ll know I’m the only one who is allowed to hurt you. You are  _ mine _ .” 

He grabbed Aziraphale’s hands and positioned them on the wall. “Keep those right there. If you move them, I will punisssh you.” Crowley’s voice was low and dangerous. Aziraphale took a few short breaths and whimpered as Crowley’s hot breath passed over the side of his throat. 

“Did you know angel,” he said almost conversationally if it weren’t for the darkness dripping off every word. “That claiming involves a bite? You’ll already be mine by that point of course in so many ways…” Crowley brushed his lips to Aziraphale’s skin, his forked tongue flicking out to taste. “But the final moment involves a bite that I will hardly realize I’m making. A pretty mark for the world to see.” 

Aziraphale whined softly as his fingers curled against the wall, nails dragging against paint. He had difficulty controlling his breathing. 

“That’s right,” Crowley pressed his lips up against Aziraphale’s pulse in his neck and nipped. Aziraphale recognized the prick of fangs. “Be scared, angel. Your fear sssmells so good…” Crowley inhaled. 

Aziraphale pressed his forehead against the wall, trembling. He’d imagined his first time with Crowley hundreds of times, thousands of times, but none of them were like this. None of them involved the fear coursing through him as every instinct he had told him to flee. 

“I thought you were supposed to be claiming me,” Aziraphale bit out. “Not talking to me.” 

“Oh angel…” Aziraphale registered the tearing of fabric before he felt the drag of claws down his back. His tunic was shredded and slid off of his shoulders, caught on his arms because he couldn’t move his hands from the wall. He cried out in pain as the nails dug into his skin. It wasn’t enough to draw blood but it was enough to smart, enough for him to try and pull away which made Crowley crowd him closer against the wall. 

“You asssssked for this angel,” Crowley growled into his ear. “Mine…” Crowley’s palms smoothed up the front of him, over his stomach and up to his chest. His muscles jumped beneath the touch as Crowley’s mouth trailed hot, wet kisses over his neck. 

Crowley took one of his nipples between his thumb and finger and rolled it. The shock that ran through Aziraphale had him pushing his ass against Crowley’s hips with a wretched whimper he wanted to be embarrassed by. Crowley chuckled. 

“You’re my whore,” Crowley murmured as he pressed the bulge in his jeans against Aziraphale’s ass. He pinched Aziraphale’s nipple until it was just on the edge of painful and Aziraphale tried to jerk away, his hands nearly leaving the wall. “What did I say?” Crowley barked and Aziraphale was startled, turning his head to brush his nose against Crowley’s cheek. 

“No.” Crowley grabbed the back of his neck and shoved his face against the wall. His forehead banged against it painfully and tears sprang up in his eyes. “Crying already? Oh little angel we have a long way to go.” 

He dragged his sharp nails down over Aziraphale’s belly and then reached up to rip the shirt off of his arms. It was tossed carelessly onto the floor, leaving Aziraphale bare from the waist up. Crowley’s mouth worked at his neck again, teeth scraping, pinching. It was a mix of pleasant and painful and he squirmed until Crowley’s hand spread across his belly and held him. 

“Be still,” he commanded and Aziraphale tried even as Crowley bit his neck and sucked at the injured skin. If he closed his eyes, Aziraphale could pretend the rough fingers undoing his trousers and shoving them down were gentle and searching. He could imagine that Crowley’s mouth was soft and yielding against his skin. 

He could pretend that Crowley shoving his legs apart meant he was about to be slowly prepared until he was hard and leaking. 

Instead, hastily lubed fingers were pressed into his ass as Crowley began more violently biting at his neck and shoulder. Two were shoved into him unceremoniously and he cried out in pain and discomfort, trying to pull away. 

“Be still!” Crowley snapped and then bit down hard as Aziraphale cried out again and trembled to keep himself still. “You wanted this,” Crowley reminded him, voice harsh. He was panting. “You wanted me to hurt you. Don’t forget that, Aziraphale. You wanted this.” 

Crowley’s hands vanished for a moment and Aziraphale made a confused noise, but the next moment his ass was being spread open and the lubed head of Crowley’s cock was being pressed into him. 

He tensed and flexed away from it without meaning to and earned a painful grip on his hips. Crowley’s nails dug into the soft skin as he held Aziraphale in place. 

“Stay,” Crowley hissed. Aziraphale’s legs shook as one hand slid back to guide Crowley’s cock back against him. He took shaking breaths and tried to relax, tried to make it easier, but then he was being penetrated and it burned. He’d not been stretched enough, he wasn’t aroused, there wasn’t enough lube. 

It was terrible. But he’d grin and bear it. He had to. Whatever monster lived inside of Crowley needed to do  _ this _ to keep him safe and he would take this over the likes of Hastur and Ligur any day. He had to do it. 

“Fuck,” Crowley sounded broken for a moment as he pressed his forehead to the back of Aziraphale’s shoulder. He was half inside of him and seemed reluctant to move. “Fuck, fuck.” 

Then with a thrust he was almost fully seated inside of him and thrusting in earnest after that. Aziraphale scrabbled at the wall as his hips were grabbed and he was brutally fucked. 

There was no other way to describe it. 

He cried out in pain and discomfort, tried with all his might not to try and twist away but something feral in the back of his mind told him to  _ run _ , to  _ flee _ , to get away. Crowley grabbed his throat and held it, hissing in his ear. He’d stopped talking what seemed like ages ago, caught up in whatever instincts propelled him to be brutal. 

Crowley slid out of him and there were hands on his shoulders flipping him around. Crowley’s hands went to his thighs and hoisted him up and he was inside of him again, face buried against Aziraphale’s throat as he bit the skin around his collar and groaned and growled. Gravity did a lot of the work as Aziraphale ended up with Crowley balls deep inside of him, thrusting at a rough and unforgiving pace. 

Aziraphale rested his hands on Crowley’s shoulders and held on, his own rounded nails digging into the skin which just seemed to fuel him. 

“Mine, mine,  _ mine _ .” He bit at Aziraphale’s jaw and then soothed his tongue over it, kissing and biting every inch of skin he could get to. His thrusts became irregular, frantic, his body tensing. Aziraphale could feel his muscles flex and move beneath his fingertips and tried to focus on  _ that _ instead of the pain. 

Crowley mouth found a spot on his shoulder that he sucked and then, as his thrusts quickened, he cried out against Aziraphale’s skin and  _ bit _ . His fangs sank into the meat of where Aziraphale’s neck met his shoulder and he cried out too. His cry was of pain as Crowley’s mouth  _ burned _ against his skin. There were a few more half hearted thrusts before Crowley was spent and eased his mouth off the bite. 

“Mine,” Crowley practically purred as he nuzzled up under Aziraphale’s jaw, one hand supporting Aziraphale’s thigh and some of his weight while the other stroked tenderly up and down his side. It was a strange sensation. Aziraphale craved it, yearned for it, but at the same time felt mounting disgust that he couldn’t keep at bay. This was a horrible practice and he closed his eyes as tears fell down his cheeks. 

He’d had better visions for his first time with Crowley. Not this, never this. 

Trying to steady his own breathing he caught a noseful of a strangely soothing scent. It was citrus-y, with ginger, and a heady scent like incense. He turned his head to nose at Crowley’s temple and realized it was coming off of him. He took a few deep breaths of it and tried to relax even as he continued to shake. 

Crowley slid out of him and let him back down onto his feet. Aziraphale sank to the floor as he willed his body to stop bloody  _ shaking _ . It didn’t listen. He tried to yank up his pants and trousers and managed to get them back up to his thighs before his hands were shaking too badly to continue. 

Crowley stared at him, yellow eyes glassy but slowly returning to something a little more alive. A little less feral. Aziraphale watched with grim fascination as blank pleasure shifted into mounting horror. Crowley took two steps backward. 

“Why?” Crowley asked, voice shaking. “Why would you - you did that on purpose. You…” Crowley scrubbed shaking hands over his face.

“I needed you to do it,” Aziraphale said quietly, tearing his gaze away from Crowley’s broken stare. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t. Don’t fucking - don’t  _ thank me _ for that. What’s wrong with you? I just, I just  _ raped you _ . I just -” He shook his head and took more steps back until his back hit the opposite wall. 

“I wanted you to do that,” Aziraphale insisted. “You didn’t  _ rape _ me.” 

“You can’t consent!” Crowley shouted, hands in the air. “There’s - there’s power dynamics here. Wanting to be fucked to avoid being raped is not consent! I’m a monster. Shit. Shit.” 

Aziraphale had nothing else to say to comfort him. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off and his body began to ache. He finally managed to pull his pants and trousers back up all the way. 

“I have to - do you need help? You’re hurt...fuck.” Crowley finally seemed to take Aziraphale in and stepped toward him but Aziraphale held up his hands. 

“You’ve touched me quite enough for one night,” Aziraphale insisted more frantically than he intended. His heart was pounding with Crowley’s approach and he must have had a look of fear because Crowley stopped dead in his tracks. 

“Right.” Crowley stared for a long moment before he turned and disappeared from Aziraphale’s sight. He heard a door down the hallway shut and then there was silence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Tuesday & Friday!
> 
> Come hang out on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/).


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale processes in the aftermath of his first claiming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. I was blown away by the response to the last chapter. Your comments, feedback, and kind words made my day. I was nervous about posting a dub-con scene (and writing this piece as a whole) but you all are so encouraging! Thank you! I'm also glad you liked the little twist with Beelzebub. There's definitely more to come with that. For now, here's a little soft chapter that I think we all need after the last one.

A bath was in order, Aziraphale thought once he was able to collect himself enough to stand. He leaned heavily against the wall and grimaced. Crowley’s come slid down the inside of his legs unpleasantly. Everything hurt, including the burning bite on his shoulder, and he couldn’t help but glance forlornly down the hallway to Crowley’s closed door. 

He was right to be upset. Aziraphale had forced him into something he had made it clear he didn’t want. The ends would hopefully justify his means, he thought. He still worried. 

Limping into the bathroom he made it over to the tub and set it up to start filling with hot water. As the sound of the water gurgling played in the background he shuffled to the full length mirror behind the door and took inventory. He turned to try and look at his back and caught glances of long scratches, not really bleeding despite being angry and red. 

Turning back toward the front he stepped closer to the mirror to inspect the burn on his shoulder. He could make out the pinpoints of Crowley’s fangs in the midst of the swollen, damaged skin and winced as he pressed down on it. It would leave a nice scar at least. A mark to keep him safe for a few days while he tried to figure out what it was he was supposed to do. 

He took in the claw marks on his hips and the other bites and bruises along his shoulders and around his collar. The skin beneath his collar still ached from his previous use of magic. Crowley hadn’t left the ointment out which meant he’d have to suffer through a night of discomfort. It would be fine. It was just another ache in a long list of them. 

Once the tub was filled he shut off the tap and slowly lowered himself into the water. The water made the scratches and nail marks prickle uncomfortably but he settled anyway. There was no avoiding the pain. He tilted his head back against the edge of the tub and stared up at the ceiling. 

“Not sure what Your plan is, my dear,” he said softly, praying. “I imagine it is as ineffable as always but some clues would help. Perhaps Beelzebub is one of them.” He frowned at the ceiling and said nothing more as he soaked his bruised and battered body in the water. 

After about half an hour he finally grabbed the soap and began to slowly wash his skin. Angels as a general rule didn’t  _ need _ to bathe, but it certainly felt nice enough. And after his activities with Crowley he wanted to scrub his skin raw. He held back on the impulse, running the soap over himself enough to get clean but not injure. 

He was hurt enough already. That was all the punishment he needed to bear. 

Aziraphale did his best to attend to his wounds, running stinging suds over them as what little dried blood he had clinging to his skin turned the water a ruddy brown. He grabbed a cloth and washed between his legs, desperate to be clean. When he’d done all he could he soaked for a moment more and then set the tub to drain, carefully rising and getting out. 

The muscles in his thighs ached and he shivered in the cool air, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around himself. Perhaps the worst ache of all was the one in his chest that yearned for soft hands and softer words, that wanted  _ comfort _ that likely wouldn’t come. A few tears trailed down his cheeks and he wiped them stubbornly away. There was no time for that, he thought. He trudged back to his room. 

He chose the softest clothes he could find from the closet and pulled them on carefully. The fabric settled against his wounded back and he tried not to focus on it. Everything would heal eventually. He could do this. 

He had to do this. 

It was still relatively early in the evening and though he was emotionally wrung out he wasn’t as physically tired as he’d like to be. He reached for his copy of  _ The Canterbury Tales _ but stopped short, remembering the previous night when Crowley had read to him until he’d fallen asleep. Aziraphale let his hand drop and stared at the book accusingly, as if he could blame it for all of his woes. 

He limped out of the room and down to the library where he selected a book on planets and returned to his room with it. Curled up as comfortably as he could, spacing pillows out to support the sorest bits, he started to read about Mars. 

Aziraphale jerked out of a doze when the door creaked open and turned too quickly, wincing and letting out a pained grunt as it stretched the scratches on his back and caused his muscles to clench. Crowley looked distraught in the doorway as he watched it all take place. 

“It is just me,” he soothed, frowning. “Careful.”

Aziraphale began to tremble and mentally scolded his body for betraying him. Crowley took noticed and his look of distraught briefly flickered into devastation before he schooled his features. He put his hands up and didn’t move from the doorway. 

“I’m…” He shook his head. “This was a bad idea. Do you want me to go?” 

“No,” Aziraphale croaked as he struggled to sit at the edge of the bed despite his trembling. “I don’t.” 

“You’re shaking,” Crowley pointed out. 

“I am indeed. An unfortunate automatic reaction. The body remembers traumas more acutely than the mind sometimes.” Aziraphale offered a weak smile. 

“You don’t make any sense,” Crowley mumbled as he stepped into the room and walked toward Aziraphale. “You didn’t want me to see to your wounds earlier.” 

“Yes, well, I was a bit sensitive. Still am.” There was an  _ I’m sorry _ on his tongue but he held it back, all too aware that there were no apologies necessary on either side. Not here, not in Hell. Crowley had done what Aziraphale needed him to do and while he wasn’t looking forward to the next time, at least he had some space to work now without the fear of something worse hanging over his head. 

“I’d like to look at your wounds,” Crowley said a bit more firmly. 

Aziraphale nodded. “The worst of them is the bite.” 

“It would be. That’s not just a flesh wound it is...well.” He sighed. “Nearly as bad as what your collar will do to you if you try to use magic. May I sit?” 

Aziraphale scooted down the bed and Crowley sat on the edge with him and then turned, bending one of his legs up onto the bed. “Shirt off, please.” 

“Yes sir,” Aziraphale murmured as he pulled the shirt off and over his head, gasping in pain. He set it aside and glanced at Crowley. 

“Er, here.” He scooted to the center of the bed and then spread his legs, patting the space between them. “Easier if you sit here.” 

Aziraphale complied, crossing his legs despite the strain it put on his thighs. Crowley’s fingertips pressed lightly on the scratches. 

“These don’t look so bad,” he said thoughtfully. “How do they feel?” 

“Like I got scratched up by a particularly irate cat,” Aziraphale replied with a sigh.

“I can heal them,” Crowley offered, ignoring the comparison. 

“Would it help to leave them?” Aziraphale didn’t want to diminish the claim marks. 

“No. If anyone other than me is looking at your bare back then we have other problems.” Crowley ran his fingers over the wounds again and Aziraphale arched his back away from the touch. 

“Heal them then, please,” Aziraphale murmured and Crowley huffed. 

“I’ll need you to stay still. I have to touch them.” He rested a steadying hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

“Right.” Aziraphale took a deep breath and held it. Crowley’s fingertips traced over the scratches they’d made not more than a few hours earlier and the pain disappeared beneath the touch. “Oh.” 

“Yeah,” Crowley said as he touched the healed skin and there was no pain. “Better?” 

“Much.” Aziraphale shivered as Crowley traced the line of his spine idly. Gentle touches after something so rough were not unappreciated. Crowley seemed to catch on, rubbing the flat of his palm up and down Aziraphale’s back a few times as Aziraphale melted into the touch. 

“Where else?” Crowley asked softly. 

Aziraphale thought about the nail marks on his hips but had no desire at that moment to remove his trousers. Instead he shook his head and then pointed to his shoulder. He knew there were more marks than just the claiming bite. Crowley had left lovebites and hickies all up and down his neck and around his collar. 

Crowley touched one of the lovebites reverently and Aziraphale shivered again. 

“These should stay,” Crowley said and sounded like he regretted the news. “Anything anyone can see should stay. I’m sorry. Are they terribly uncomfortable?” 

“No,” Aziraphale answered honestly. He’d experienced far worse from inexperienced lovers on Earth in moments of bliss. These, compared to everything else, were nothing. 

“Good, then,” Crowley murmured as he touched nearly every mark he could see from behind. Then he turned his attention to the claim, his fingertips pressing gently around the damaged flesh. 

Aziraphale flinched away from the touch with a sharp inhale.

“Sorry.” Crowley sighed and returned to rubbing Aziraphale’s back, tense and thoughtful behind him. 

“Can you put ointment on it?” Aziraphale asked. 

“I could,” Crowley replied reluctantly. 

Ah. Aziraphale blushed. “You like it.” 

“Ngk.” Crowley’s forehead bent to rest at the back of Aziraphale’s neck. “You have to understand angel, there are  _ instincts _ involved here. Trying to navigate them is a challenge.” 

“And what do your instincts say?” Aziraphale was curious, driven by the need to understand the full circumstances he’d been thrust into. 

Crowley sighed deeply and it was warm against his skin. “This mark draws me in as much as it will repel the others. You’re the...first one I’ve ever done this to. The only one. I didn’t realize.” He shook his head. “Deep inside of me there is a possessive beast and I want all of the rest of the monsters out there to know the full extent to which you are mine.” 

Aziraphale contemplated this and wondered what it must be like. He had no frame of reference himself, except the natural jealousy he’d felt on earth whenever someone would catch Crowley’s attention. This seemed much deeper than that. 

“What I don’t understand,” Crowley continued, “is how anyone could continue to be cruel to their slave after doing this.” 

“I wish I had the answer. I’m grateful you are not cruel, Crowley.” And he was. If it had been any other demon…

“I was cruel. The fact that I did any of this in the first place…” he shook his head. “How are you, er, down there?” Crowley lifted his head from the back of Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale grimaced at the question. 

“Fine,” he replied and felt Crowley’s hands on him, guiding him to turn around so he could look into those wonderfully serpentine eyes of his. 

“Tell me the truth, please,” Crowley said and there was something desperate there. 

“Sore,” Aziraphale answered and glanced away. It was perhaps the one wound that was hardest to think about. Again he thought of all the fantasies he’d had, of slow love making on soft sheets. He’d dreamed of how Crowley would take him apart, of being the center of his attention as he was brought to climax time and time again. 

The reality of their first time, even if this wasn’t  _ his _ Crowley, stung. It spit in the face of all of those hopes as all he had to show for it was a sore arse. 

“It could have been worse,” Aziraphale offered as he once again met Crowley’s gaze and found something unreadable there. 

“I won’t do it again,” Crowley insisted, a hand coming up to cup Aziraphale’s cheek before he pressed their foreheads together. “I won’t. I won’t be that. I don’t want to be a monster, Aziraphale.” 

“Shh,” Aziraphale soothed and, for the first time, reached up to card his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “It is alright, dear boy.” 

“Why do I feel like I  _ know _ you?” Crowley asked after a moment and the question caught Aziraphale off guard. “You’re a stranger to me, a slave, a prisoner of war meant to serve me and yet all I want to do is spend time reading and drinking and being with you. And you,” Crowley leaned back, searching Aziraphale’s face for something. “You act like you know me.” 

Aziraphale sat back on his knees, suddenly very, very nervous. 

“And I’m not talking about the garden,” Crowley insisted. “You act so familiar. You knew...how to incite me to violence. You’ve already forgiven me for the horrible thing I’ve done and it doesn’t make any sense.” 

“I needed you to do it,” Aziraphale pointed out. “That’s all.” 

“Why?” 

Silence stretched between them as Aziraphale allowed the question to settle. He was reluctant to answer. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” 

“Try me.” Crowley had a determined look on his face. 

“Not tonight,” Aziraphale said quietly. Crowley looked as if he wanted to protest but then his gaze drifted to the mark on Aziraphale’s shoulder and he closed his mouth. His eyes flicked back up to Aziraphale’s. 

“How badly does it hurt?” Crowley asked as he reached forward to touch the wound again, watching Aziraphale’s face intently. He flinched. 

“Enough.” It was the best he could offer. It smoldered like the wound on his neck had, and the ones on his wrists. Similar, like Crowley had said. 

“Come here, then,” Crowley murmured as he reached out and tugged Aziraphale closer. Aziraphale complied, resting on his knees between Crowley’s legs, allowing himself the small indulgence of leaning forward to bury his face against Crowley’s shoulder. 

His chest ached again with longing. 

The ointment was spread carefully over the wound despite Aziraphale’s flinching and twitching from the pressure of the touch. Crowley spoke soft words of comfort into his hair, shushing him, trying to be gentle as he tended to it. Then the familiar chill settled over it and Aziraphale relaxed. 

Crowley’s other hand came up to pet the back of Aziraphale’s head, hand sliding down to rest on the nape of his neck before he ran his fingers gently down his spine. Aziraphale shivered and hesitantly reached out to put his arms around Crowley’s shoulders. He hugged him then, overwhelmed and exhausted, desperate for his friend. 

Crowley made a surprised sound before his arms came up around Aziraphale as he pulled him close. 

“It is alright,” Crowley murmured next to his ear. “I’ve got you.” 

They remained like that, suspended in time, until Aziraphale’s thighs began to ache and he shifted uncomfortably. Crowley squeezed him carefully and then maneuvered both of them down onto the bed. Aziraphale made a questioning noise and Crowley answered by pulling him closer, Aziraphale bare chest pressing to Crowley’s clothed one. 

Aziraphale went willingly, tucking his head up under Crowley’s chin and inhaling the warm mix of citrus, ginger, and incense that seemed to cling to his skin. It was soothing and it was  _ Crowley _ . 

“I don’t have anywhere to be first thing tomorrow,” Crowley admitted. “I’ll be here when you wake up alright?” 

Aziraphale liked the sound of that. His eyes grew heavy as he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, relaxing. At some point he registered the weight of a blanket being draped over him and he nestled closer. It couldn’t last forever, he knew that all too well. But right then, he would take any small comfort he could get. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Tuesday & Friday!
> 
> As always, feel free to come chat with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/). A few people have reached out and I've really enjoyed having folks to talk Good Omens with!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale tries to tell Crowley how they know each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shh. I know it isn't Tuesday but I've got an early start tomorrow and I'd rather post this now and have it out to y'all instead of tomorrow evening. So here's your Tuesday chapter early!
> 
> Thank you to everyone for your wonderful support. It is a highlight of my week to read your comments and see everyone engaging with the story. I don't have time to reply to everyone, but I definitely read! And I love seeing your theories and reactions. Keep 'em coming.

Aziraphale woke up the next morning to an empty bed that was still warm. In the haze of exhaustion he scooted over into the warm spot and snuggled back into the blankets, pressing his face into the pillow. It smelled like Crowley, that comforting citrus scent that tickled something in the back of his mind. He dozed.

He got up properly a little while later, his legs stiff and painful. He wondered if he ought to get more exercise if this was the kind of thing his corporation was going to have to deal with. With a grumble he padded out barefoot into the kitchen, not at all quite remembering the weight of the past couple days. 

All he knew was that Crowley had spent the night with him and it had been wonderful. He’d not slept that well since arriving in Hell. 

There was bacon cooking. He could hear it and smell it as he approached the kitchen and found Crowley still in his pajamas once again at the stove. Yellow eyes immediately snapped to Aziraphale and the two of them stared at each other for a long, tense moment. 

“Good morning, sir,” Aziraphale said, waiting. Crowley looked conflicted and then turned back to the stove. 

“Good morning,” he replied. “Sleep well?” 

“Quite, thank you.” Aziraphale decided it was safe enough to enter and he puttered around to put on the kettle for tea. “I could take over if you’d like?” 

“Nah, already started. Almost done. Eggs are ready,” he pointed with the spatula to a pan full of them. “Just finishing the bacon. Make tea, I’ll take some this morning.” 

“Excellent.” Aziraphale pulled out two mugs and dumped tea bags in them, waiting for the kettle. They allowed a companionable silence to fall over them as the bacon spit and sputtered in the pan. 

They ended up at the table with plates of food and hot tea. Crowley picked at his while Aziraphale, desperately hungry after missing dinner the previous night, dug right in. He hated it a bit, how eating had become a necessity as opposed to something merely to enjoy, but there was little he could really do about it. Crowley watched him eat, sipping his tea thoughtfully, and Aziraphale was reminded of the thousands of times they’d done this very same thing over the years. 

“So,” Crowley began once Aziraphale had demolished a good portion of his breakfast. “Will you tell me how you know me?” 

Aziraphale stiffened. He’d hoped this conversation would have been left for some time far in the future, not now. Not when his quest was still so new and the stakes so high. “You wouldn’t believe me, like I said last night. I’ll sound like a lunatic.” 

Crowley huffed. “We’re in hell, Aziraphale. Everyone’s a little crazy. Try me.” 

He didn’t want to. One part of him didn’t want to in order to protect this delicate mission he was undertaking to try and right the world. The other didn’t want to because he cherished the memories and to share them, to lose them, to have them laughed at would hurt his already aching heart. He glanced down at his plate and pushed some eggs around on it. 

“What if I said I come from a different place where we were friends?” Aziraphale asked quietly. “Where the world didn’t end, thanks in part to our intervention, and we spent thousands of years sharing the pleasures of humanity together.” 

Aziraphale didn’t look up. He didn’t want to see the look on Crowley’s face, whatever it would be. 

“Look,” Crowley started and Aziraphale knew that tone. It was one that intended to correct someone who had been through a trauma, to gently remind them of reality. It turned his stomach. “This whole thing - the war, the end of the world - I’ve no doubt it has been hard on you but it happened, Aziraphale. If it hadn’t you wouldn’t be here, like this, my slave.” 

“I told you that you wouldn’t believe me,” Aziraphale snapped, looking up at Crowley finally. He was annoyed, with a little bit of anger simmering just beneath it. “But that’s how I know you. I’ve known you for six thousand years. I know you loved your Bentley and driving through the streets of London like a mad man, I know you enjoy late nights and lots of wine, that you think dolphins are fascinating creatures and one of your greatest joys is sinking ducks at the park.” 

He took a breath, staring hard at Crowley’s face as a look of confusion spread across it. “I know that you prefer a domino effect to tempting as opposed to winning souls one at a time - I helped, you know. I’ve done my fair share of your temptations in my time. I know you spent a long evening moving markers around for the m25 to make it a symbol of Hell, and that you enjoy yelling at plants to keep them in line.” 

Aziraphale pushed his plate away, no longer hungry. Instead there was a gnawing discomfort in his gut. “Of course, I can’t help but wonder now how many of those things were enhanced by my influence, or by our friendship, but I don’t imagine you fundamentally changed just because I was absent. I think you’re just as smitten and amused by earth as you’ve always been, and I would wager that the end of the world took more out of you than you expected it to.” 

There was silence between them then, heavy, weighed down by memories. 

“Who sent you?” Crowley rasped out as he stood and began to pace in the kitchen. “Is this a joke? Something Beelzebub is doing for shits and giggles? Because if it is I swear I’m going to give them a piece of my mind…” 

Aziraphale laughed. It was a sad, despondent thing. He realized too late that some small part of him hoped that sharing the memories might jog something in Crowley’s mind. Instead he was again reminded that this was not _ his _ Crowley. 

“You asked,” Aziraphale said plainly. “I didn’t want to tell you but you _ asked _.” 

Crowley looked at him. “If it is true, what the hell does any of it mean?” 

“That, I can’t answer. That’s what I’m going to try to figure out.” Aziraphale sighed and sat primly with his hands in his lap. “It is why I needed yesterday, I need to be able to walk these halls and not constantly fear for my physical safety. I need to get information, to figure out what’s gone _ wrong _.” 

“I don’t get it,” Crowley said, shaking his head. “_ This _ is reality, angel. The antichrist came into power and the world ended. I don’t understand how there could be some other whole reality where you and I somehow save the world!” 

“It is all rather ineffable,” Aziraphale replied with a shake of his head. He caught a strange, blank look on Crowley’s face for a moment. “Alright, dear boy?” 

“What?” Crowley was back, just like that. “Yes, fine.” 

Awkward silence fell and Aziraphale stood and collected their plates, walking over to the sink to begin to wash them. 

“Whatever fantasies you have in that head of yours, angel,” Crowley broke the silence. “They might bring you comfort, but you shouldn’t allow them to color the way you see the world. It isn’t real. You’ll have to accept that eventually.” 

Aziraphale listened to Crowley’s retreating footsteps and scrubbed rather aggressively at one of the plates. If he hadn’t spoken with Beelzebub perhaps he would start to believe that _ this _ was reality and his memories were false, but he knew it wasn’t the case now. Something was amiss, and even if Crowley refused to believe it, his mission was still the same. Get information, get close to the antichrist, and figure out how to get the world back to what it was supposed to be. 

He finished the dishes, leaving them to dry and rubbed his hands dry on a dishtowel. Leaving the kitchen he wandered to the study where Crowley sat, reading through what appeared to be files. 

“Work?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley glanced up. 

“A bit. I’ll need to leave soon. You ought to stay here, tidy up, do some reading.” 

Aziraphale frowned. “I’d quite like to go out if you don’t mind, sir. Get my bearings.” 

Something darkened on Crowley’s face. “No, I think you’d better not. Not today.” 

“Whyever not?” Aziraphale felt his temper flare, suspicious that their conversation led to this decision. 

“You’ve got no reason to go wandering through the halls of Hell,” Crowley snapped. “I’ve got no tasks for you to do and I won’t have you...I won’t have you doing whatever you please. You will stay here, you will tidy up, you will organize the library and have dinner prepared for me when I return.” 

Aziraphale bit back his angry retort. He was being cut off, after going through everything to get what he needed to wander without being harmed. What was the point? He clenched his fists and stared at the floor. 

“Is that clear?” Crowley asked, snapping his folder shut. 

“Yes, _ sir _,” Aziraphale all but spat, turning an angry glare on Crowley who flinched ever so slightly before he set his features into a stern frown. 

“Right.” He stood from the couch and passed by Aziraphale, leaving the room. Aziraphale waited until he heard Crowley’s bedroom door click shut before he stomped into his bedroom and slammed the door. 

“Idiot,” he hissed, quaking with anger and beneath it all a little bit of _ hurt _. Fine, he could play this game. He could be a good servant for the day and earn his way back outside. He’d play along with Crowley’s wishes to keep him contained and if nothing else, he knew at some point Beelzebub would call for him again. 

Aziraphale paced around his room and then walked up to the closet and pulled out his clothing for the day. Despite not having plans to leave, he donned Crowley’s colors. If Crowley wanted him to be a slave, he’d be one. 

He didn’t leave the room until he heard footsteps and the open and close of the front door. Crowley was gone, so he slipped out and began the task of tidying while he thought about what to make for dinner. 

**

“I need to speak with the Prince right now,” Crowley demanded as he stepped into Beelzebub’s office, glaring daggers at the receptionist who regarded him with an unimpressed look. 

“Do you have an appointment?” She intoned. “Let me answer that for you, I know for a fact you don’t. I’d be happy to make one.” 

“I’ve not time for an appointment, I need to see them _ now _,” he hissed as he strolled up to the desk and leaned over it, peering directly into the eyes of what amounted to a bored teenager. The demon in front of him lifted her upper lip in a smirk, flashing pointed canines.

“I’m afraid they’re quite busy being a Prince of Hell and all,” she replied. “They’ve got an appointment in about twenty years, if you’d like me to put you down.” 

Crowley took a deep breath when he realized his first tactic would get him nowhere and flipped his scowl into a charming smile. “Look, while I appreciate the quick turnaround on appointments I’m afraid this discussion is time sensitive.” 

“What a pity. I’m sure they will still be happy to hear you out at the next available appointment.” Crowley hated the smug look on her face. Why did Beelzebub have to employ _ competent _ demons? 

“He’s lucky,” Beelzebub said from the door as Crowley’s head snapped up to look at them. “I’ve had an opening just now.” 

The receptionist shrugged. “Lucky indeed. Go on then, m’lord.” 

Crowley offered her a smile that was all teeth before he padded over to Beelzebub and walked right by them and into the office. He hated this office, all cold stone and spooky lighting. He enjoyed spooky, but there was something about _this_ brand of spooky that put him on edge. Regardless, he slumped into one of the chairs as Beelzebub walked around the desk and sat down on their throne. 

“How can I help you, Crowley?” They asked, leaning back and watching him with an impassive stare much like their receptionist had. 

“What’s the game you’re playing with Aziraphale?” He asked immediately. There was no point in beating around the bush. Aziraphale’s words still bothered him. Friends? Them? A world where the antichrist hadn’t come to power? It made no sense, and he was too tired for bullshit games. 

“Game?” Beelzebub quirked a brow. “Explain.” 

“You’re the one who gifted him to me, _ forced _ him on me really. Now he’s spouting all sorts of nonsense and I don’t have time for this. I would think, after all my years of service to Hell, that I would have earned at least a little respect from you. But no, you’re a demon, one of the demon-y-est demons I bloody know, of course this gift comes with some sort of ulterior motive.” Crowley was tired of getting jerked around by Hell. “So how about we cut to the chase and you tell me what you want?” 

“Crowley,” Beelzebub said with surprising sincerity, “I’ve not a fucking clue what you’re talking about.” 

He found it hard to believe and scowled. “That angel you gave me is spinning tales about a world where the antichrist lost, where _ Hell _ lost, where I was friends with him and we saved the world. I don’t know if you’re trying to push me into some sort of insubordination or to say something treasonous, but you should know by now that my loyalty is to Hell. I delivered the antichrist for Satan’s sake! Made sure he came into power! Helped him train his damned hellhound! Do you know how many jackets that beast ruined?” 

A lot, Crowley thought. Hellhound drool was the _ worst _. 

“You are one of our cleverest demons,” Beelzebub admitted. “No one disputes that. What I don’t understand is why you’re taking what this angel says to heart. Clearly he’s delusional, or perhaps trying to cope with the reality he finds himself in. Hell is hard on his kind.” 

“It is more than that,” Crowley grumbled. 

“Why do you think that?” Beelzebub asked. 

“Because!” Crowley threw his hands up in the air. “You should have _ seen him _.” He grimaced. “Whatever the case, whatever you’re up to with him, I’m not going to allow it. I’ve got him on house arrest and I’m inclined to keep him like that unless you tell me what’s going on.”

Beelzebub laughed. The damn bastard _ chuckled _. “Crowley, he’s your slave to do with as you wish. I keep my own in the house. Gabriel doesn’t leave to wander the halls. You’re welcome to do the same with yours, many demons do. It doesn’t bother me in the least.” 

Crowley scowled. He’d been hoping that would have drawn some sort of reaction but Beelzebub looked impassive. “He won’t be able to do whatever it is you’ve asked him to, if I don’t let him out.” 

“You’re making a lot of assumptions. Like I said, I don’t care what you do. If it is the conversation I had with him the other day then please, let me clear up a few things. I knew Aziraphale in a past life, before the Great War. He was, for lack of a better term, a fine adversary. I gifted him to you because even I can give into fondness from time to time and I did not wish for him to face cruelty. He’s a gentle soul, and I thought he might be a good match for you.” Beelzebub shrugged and spread their hands out. “I wanted to make sure he was settling in well.” 

Crowley didn’t quite believe it. Something was off about the explanation but he couldn’t put his finger on what because Beelzebub had a superb poker face. He sighed. 

“Look,” Beelzebub sat forward, hands on the desk. “The angel Aziraphale belongs to you to do with as you please. If he is having delusions about another world then perhaps you ought to let him have them for now, as long as they’re not harming him. It is likely a coping technique and once he settles he’ll be more accepting of reality. Whatever the case, don’t forget that you are the master in this scenario. You have the power.” 

They sat back. “Anything else I can help you with today Crowley?” 

“No,” he grumbled, standing. “Thank you for your time Prince Beelzebub.” He gave a mocking bow and trudged over to the door. 

“And Crowley,” Beelzebub called out right as he reached the door. He turned, scowling. “Try to keep an open mind, hm?” 

Crowley didn’t like the sound of that. He opened the door and stomped out, not bothering to even glance at the receptionist as he stalked into the halls of Hell. A few demons leapt out of his way as he didn’t bother to dodge them, eyes trained on the hallway in front of him as he made his way to his office. 

He paused when he caught sight of an angel cowering at its master’s feet, clutching its face, but grit his teeth and kept walking. He couldn’t save everyone. It wasn’t his place. 

His office was a shitty little thing tucked among a bunch of others. He preferred his home office to it, but Aziraphale was currently in his home and he wasn’t ready to face the angel again. Especially not after their morning conversation and the look on Aziraphale’s face when he realized he was being confined to the house. Crowley slammed the door to his office shut and dropped into his throne, staring at the top of his desk that was covered in files. 

Above the rest was a new packet with his name on it. He reached over and tore it open, pulling the papers out. It was from Dagon, more paperwork to fill out regarding the status of the antichrist. He snarled and tossed it back onto the desk, leaning back in the throne to peer up at the ceiling. 

“Something is going on,” he said to it. “And I’m going to figure out what, I swear to Someone.” 

No one answered him. Typical. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Tuesday & Friday (next update on Friday)
> 
> I love talking!! Come talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/)!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale copes with house arrest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These boys are a hot mess y'all. Thanks as always for reading along and commenting! I love reading your theories and thoughts and reactions. They feed my soul. I've just wrapped writing ch 18 and there's so much more to come. I'm excited to share it with you. 
> 
> As always, thanks so much to my beta Kazeetie who lets me drop random bits that I'm working on in their inbox and always has good feedback!!

Aziraphale realized very quickly he was never cut out to be a slave. 

Tidying up was all well and good. He knew how to make a bed and wipe down surfaces. He’d made sure the books in the library were alphabetized and then got distracted part way through by a damaged copy of Oscar Wilde’s  _ The Importance of Being Earnest _ . After he dragged himself away from the worn pages he finished what he could with the library and then headed into the kitchen to try and figure out dinner. 

His first attempt, one at a casserole he remembered seeing once at a favorite diner in the United States, was burned along the outsides and molten liquid on the inside. It was a disaster and he stared at the baking dish forlornly. He’d dumped it out and rummaged through the fridge for something else. 

He managed to drop the carton of eggs when he pulled them out of the fridge and couldn’t miracle them back together, so he tossed those too. His frustration mounted, his shoulder ached, and somewhere deep inside he wanted to cry. 

“Why?” He asked no one as he dumped paper towels soaked with egg yolk into the garbage. 

Dinner ended up being a meat and cheese tray because it was the one thing he couldn’t mess up too terribly. He managed to slice up a couple apples and peeled a few tangerines too and arranged it attractively on a tray. He stuck it on a shelf in the fridge and proceeded to clean up the dishes from his failed dinner, waiting on Crowley to return. 

He waited well after the dishes were done, fidgeting around and rearranging some of the cupboards in the kitchen. Crowley still didn’t return.  _ He _ started to get hungry and stole a couple apple slices off the tray, munching on them as he walked around the house. He checked a clock set to what equivalent time it would have been in London - 7pm. 

Aziraphale stopped in front of the door and stared at it, waiting. Nothing. He grew nervous. 

He ate the rest of the sliced apples and cut up another one to replace them. He nabbed a piece of cheese, too, and continued his pacing and fidgeting. Crowley had said to have dinner ready, hadn’t he? That had indicated to Aziraphale that he could expect him back around dinner time. Now it was growing into the evening and Crowley still hadn’t returned. 

Aziraphale slipped into Crowley’s bedroom and looked around, trying to convince himself that he hadn’t somehow sneaked in when Aziraphale wasn’t looking. There was no one in the bedroom, just Crowley’s well made bed and the lingering scent of ginger. It eased his anxiety only a fraction as he paced right back out and shut the door behind him. 

Where was he? 

What if Crowley left him there? Perhaps it was punishment for sharing the truth. Maybe Crowley was trying to figure out what to do with him. Maybe...he shook his head and rubbed his hands together, his stomach rumbling unpleasantly. His shoulder continued to hurt. 

It grew late. Aziraphale wondered if he ought to just burst into the halls and go in search of him but he knew that would be a bad idea. He was told to stay, so he would. The last thing he needed to do was put more of a strain on their relationship than he already had. 

He fixed up the coffee pot for the morning. There wasn’t much else to do. He was alone and he hated it. 

Finally, around ten the front door opened and closed and Aziraphale hurried over to it. Relief flooded him as his eyes landed on Crowley as he removed his jacket and hung it up. 

“You’re back,” Aziraphale said quietly and held back the urge to move toward him, to be close to him. His hands trembled and he held them back behind his back. “Er, sir.” 

Crowley looked over him with a frown which immediately softened. “You were worried.” 

Aziraphale looked away, embarrassed. He’d been so angry at Crowley that morning, bitter about being locked up. But he realized very quickly when Crowley didn’t show up for dinner that that was a far worse fate. He’d rather have Crowley there to be angry with than gone somewhere, leaving Aziraphale alone. 

He couldn’t form words. He just breathed through the tension in his chest as it eased. 

Crowley stepped forward and rested his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize the effect it would have on you.” He lifted one of his hands to card it through Aziraphale’s hair and Aziraphale stepped into it, pressed closer, hesitantly pressed his forehead against Crowley’s shoulder. 

He trembled. “Oh angel, shh,” Crowley soothed, tugging him closer. Aziraphale nosed up against his throat, taking in Crowley’s warmth and his scent. His trembling eased as Crowley put a hand on the back of his neck and pressed his fingers into the muscles there, massaging gently. 

“Don’t leave me trapped in here,” Aziraphale whispered against his neck. “Please.” It was the worst thing he could think of. Free to do whatever he wanted around the house but not  _ free _ , and impossibly alone. 

“Shh.” Crowley pressed his cheek to the top of Aziraphale’s head. 

“I’ll do whatever you’d like,” Aziraphale murmured. “Whatever you wish of me as long as you don’t do that again.” 

“None of that,” Crowley insisted. “Did you make dinner?” 

“I tried,” Aziraphale admitted, loathe to step away from Crowley’s embrace. It was the only anchor in the storm of Hell. “Ended up making a plate of cheese, meat, and fruit. I’m afraid I burned the rest and broke all the eggs.” 

Crowley let out a short laugh at that. “Of course you did. That’s alright. Have you eaten?” 

“Not much. Just a few nibbles.” Aziraphale finally stepped away and met Crowley’s gaze. 

“And how is your shoulder?” He reached up to gently touch the mark that was visible above the collar of Aziraphale’s shirt. He winced. 

“Sore.”

“Not surprising. I’ll treat it again tonight after we eat.” Crowley motioned to the kitchen. “Shall we?” 

Aziraphale led the way, bustling about to set the food out on the table. He boiled water for tea. 

Finally, he joined Crowley who motioned to the food. Aziraphale picked up a piece of tangerine and ate it, not sure what to say. Earlier in the day he’d rehearsed a rebuke. He wanted to make Crowley believe him. As the day waned, and his anxiety rose, he realized he couldn’t play by their old rules. This wasn’t his best friend, it was a kind stranger, and it seemed his kindness may have limits.

He also desperately didn’t want to be punished by being left alone for extended periods of time. 

“How was your day, sir?” Aziraphale asked, trying to break the silence as he picked up some meat and cheese and ate it. 

“Fine. Dull, as are most days down here.” He paused. “Look, angel, about this morning -”

“I won’t bring it up again,” Aziraphale insisted, trying to clamp down on the desperation that flooded him. “I realize it upset you, and I realize that perhaps it is just delusions, and I don’t want you to concern yourself with it.” 

Crowley closed his mouth and stared, then his lips curled into a concerned frown. “That’s a strange change of heart.” 

“I’d rather not have my thoughts come between us,” Aziraphale answered and then stared down at his lap. “I’ll behave if you’ll just...if you’ll let me  _ out _ of this place.” 

“That doesn’t explain how you knew about me. The things you said this morning, they were true.” Crowley looked away. “How did you know?” 

Aziraphale sighed. “I’ve told you.” 

Silence stretched between them along with a growing sense of dread. Aziraphale could handle a lot of things but this, this threat of being kept and cornered and caged, it set him on edge. His solitude in the bookshop had always been by choice, knowing he could leave whenever he pleased. This? This would be forced. There was no leeway, no grace, no ability to slip out whenever he wanted. At least not without bringing Crowley’s potential ire down on him. 

“We’ll set that aside for now, then,” Crowley concluded much to Aziraphale’s relief. “Whatever the case, the reality is that right now you are my property and I am your master. I will send you out on errands tomorrow. I have some things I need tended to that I cannot do myself and it doesn’t make sense to keep you locked up in here. This doesn’t mean that we’re friends, though. Don’t conflate the two.” 

“Of course.” Aziraphale tried to hide his hurt. They weren’t friends, not in this universe. No matter how kind or gentle Crowley was, he was caring for an  _ object _ , not Aziraphale. Not in the way he would have otherwise. 

“You should eat more,” Crowley suggested. 

“I’m not hungry,” Aziraphale replied petulantly. He couldn’t keep it out of his voice. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley’s voice took on a commanding tone and Aziraphale reluctantly looked up at him. “Eat, please.” 

Aziraphale stared at what remained of the food and picked up an apple slice, nibbling on it. Crowley frowned but said nothing more, watching as Aziraphale slowly consumed a few more bites of cheese and meat before he seemed satisfied. 

“May I clean up, sir?” Aziraphale asked, voice quiet. The day had worn on him in more than one way. 

“Of course.” 

Aziraphale picked up the tray and put away the remaining food, cleaning up. It was quick, easy, and he walked back over to Crowley. “Is that all, sir?” 

“Angel…” Crowley sounded hurt. “You don’t have to act like this.” 

Aziraphale stared at him. “We’re not friends,” he pointed out. “This is how a slave should act.”

Crowley grimaced. “I should see to your shoulder.” 

“That’s unnecessary, sir,” Aziraphale replied. He was cutting off his nose to spite his face, he knew, but he was miserable inside and didn’t see the point in accepting any more kindness from Crowley that evening. He wanted to go to bed. To sleep and forget for a while. To dream, perhaps, of his old life. 

“You told me earlier it hurt,” Crowley protested as he stood and Aziraphale took a nervous step backward. Crowley looked frustrated by that. “I can help.” 

“No need, it feels fine now.” It didn’t. It ached, the low burn flaring back up now that the care Crowley had shown it the previous night had worn off. “If it is all the same to you and you need nothing else from me, I’d like to rest for the night, sir.” 

Crowley stared at him long and hard before he waved his hand dismissively. “Fine. Go.” 

Aziraphale nodded and turned on his heel, walking out of the kitchen and down the hallway. He ignored the emptiness he felt in his chest at pushing Crowley away. There was nothing else for him to do, was there? If he acted too familiar it would bring up questions about the past and if he acted too distant then Crowley would be upset...what was he supposed to do? 

Be a servant. Be a  _ slave _ . And hope that the next day, when he was allowed out of the house, he’d be able to find some sort of line of communication to figure out what was going on on Earth. 

He slipped into his room and let the door click shut behind him, leaning against it briefly. This was all terrible, he decided. 

Carefully he stripped out of his clothes and back into his pajamas, crawling into bed. The sheets were cold, but as he buried his face in one of the pillows he realized it still smelled like Crowley. He inhaled deeply, hugging it close to his chest as he closed his eyes against the tears that wanted to fall. He missed him. He could catch glimpses of him in this Crowley, but it wasn’t the same. What he wanted was  _ his _ best friend, the one who knew him better than anyone else in the entire world, who knew how to draw a smile out of him on the worst days. 

He missed the bookshop and late nights drinking and the warmth in Crowley’s yellow eyes whenever he would remove his sunglasses and watch Aziraphale animatedly recount one of their many adventures. 

Aziraphale fell into a restless sleep, acutely aware that he missed Crowley’s warmth. 

When he woke up the next day he, as had become his routine, trudged out to the kitchen and was startled to find Crowley there still. He had a mug of coffee and appeared to be reading a newspaper. He glanced up and offered a little smile. 

“Good morning, angel.” 

“Good morning, sir.” Aziraphale responded, unable to keep the confusion out of his voice. He’d have to get better at masking his emotions. “Er, I wasn’t expecting you.” 

“Yes, well,” Crowley folded the paper and set it down. “I wanted to see to your shoulder.” 

Aziraphale frowned. “I told you it was fine,” he replied quickly. Then, “sir.” 

“I understand that, but I know you’re lying.” Crowley stood up and stepped toward Aziraphale and it took everything in him not to step backward. “And I don’t entirely understand why you feel the need to punish yourself but I’m not going to allow it. You’re going to be running errands today and while you’re protected,” he motioned to the mark, “you should still be sharp and aware. You can’t do that when my bite is burning a hole in your shoulder.” 

Aziraphale blushed without meaning to, something about  _ Crowley _ and  _ biting _ and the possession of it all turning his gut to liquid in the most pleasant way. Crowley noticed and something hungry flashed in his eyes before he managed to put it away. 

“Yes sir,” Aziraphale murmured as he looked away and Crowley stepped even closer, right up into his space, reaching up to draw his fingertips around the edge of Aziraphale’s collar. Then he grabbed Aziraphale’s chin and gently directed him to make eye contact. 

“Go wait for me in the study, shirt off,” he instructed, his thumb rubbing against Aziraphale’s chin. “Understood?” 

Something about this new dynamic made Aziraphale fidget but he nodded and was released. He turned and left the kitchen, heading into the study where he sat on the couch and removed his sleeping shirt. He shivered. 

Crowley followed him soon after, a now-familiar jar in his hands as he pulled a stool over in front of Aziraphale and sat down. He reached out and brushed his fingers against some of the lovebites again, seeming to relish the way Aziraphale shivered in response. It took everything in him not to make a noise, to not show that whatever Crowley had figured out overnight was having the impact that it was. 

He began to smear the ointment over the bite and Aziraphale hissed at the pressure. 

“Doesn’t hurt, huh?” Crowley asked in good humor as Aziraphale huffed in reply. “I don’t want you to be in pain, angel,” he said a little more seriously. “Don’t punish yourself like that.” 

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley and nodded. “Fine. Right.” Once Crowley finished rubbing the ointment into the wound he ran his fingers over it again and the cooling sensation spread over it, the pain dissipating. 

Aziraphale relaxed for what felt like the first time in a long while, unaware of just how much the pain had been bothering him.

“Better?” Crowley asked. 

“Yes, sir.” Aziraphale smiled a little and Crowley reached out to touch the charm on his collar thoughtfully. Aziraphale watched him. 

“I’ve left your tasks for the day on the table,” he pointed out. “When you’ve completed them you’re free to hang around here and read, or do whatever else you might like. I’m going to see if I can’t find a couple of cookbooks, see if we can’t improve our dinner options.” 

“Right. If you tell me where some may be I can look while I’m out,” Aziraphale offered, the prospect of a bookstore - even one in Hell - too good to pass up. 

“Ah, no, unfortunately it is going to require pestering some contacts who collect artifacts from Earth. Trust me, I’ll find something.” Crowley stood. “Do you have everything you need?” 

“Yes, thank you.” Aziraphale grabbed his shirt and shrugged it back on. 

“I’ll see you this evening then,” Crowley said, then turned and left the room. Aziraphale heard him stop in the kitchen before his steps took him out the front door. 

Aziraphale took his time getting ready for the day, submitting to a quick shower before pulling on Crowley’s colors again. He checked himself in the mirror, adjusting the collar of the tunic to make sure his whole claim mark was visible. Once he was satisfied, he made his way to the table to pick up his task list and bag. 

Unsurprisingly, he had to deliver more paperwork to Dagon. Hell seemed to be a bit more stringent about reports than Heaven ever was. He mostly remembered the way to that office. He was also asked to get some paperwork signed by someone in a department aptly referred to as the “Angel Slave Management Office”. Aziraphale made a face at that. Crowley was truly one of the more creative demons in the world if that was the best they could come up with. 

The last one on the list piqued his curiosity the most. He was meant to pick up a suit at some sort of tailor. The fact that Hell had tailors was a surprise. Most of the denizens of Hell certainly didn’t show any sort of fashion sense, but perhaps that was the point. He cringed to think of what the suit could possibly look like, but if Crowley was the one who had requested it certainly it had to be stylish. 

Regardless, he was meant to pick it up and he would. 

He adjusted the bag on his shoulder and slipped on shoes before he left the house. It was good to be out again, despite the smell of smoke and sulfur that seemed to cling to every surface. He glanced down at the direction and began to wind his way through the halls, heading in the direction of Dagon’s office. 

He recognized Jericho behind the desk and couldn’t help but smile as their eyes trailed over him. 

“Finally got your master in order, hm?” They said with a smile. “Good for you, cutie. You needed it.” 

“Yes, well,” Aziraphale shrugged and fidgeted before he reached into the bag and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “I believe I’m meant to turn these in to Dagon.” He reached across the desk and handed them to Jericho. 

“ _ Lord _ Dagon,” Jericho corrected gently. “You really are out of the loop there aren’t you, little angel. It is all about respect in these parts.” 

“Right, right, sorry. Lord Dagon. Regardless, those papers are for her. Him? Them?” He made a face. 

“Her for now suits just fine,” Jericho replied, flipping through the papers. “Ah yes, these all look in order. I’ll add them to her to-do pile. Is there anything else I can help you with?” 

“I don’t suppose so,” Aziraphale replied, studying their face thoughtfully. “Except, well, is there any other advice you might have?” 

They laughed. “Keep your eyes wide open, little angel,” Jericho replied. “Your master’s protection can be far reaching but is still fallible.” 

“Of course. Thank you.” He tried not to let their advice unnerve him.

“Anytime. Now go, I’m sure you’ve got many other errands to run and I’ve got work I need to pretend to do.” They leaned back in the chair and Aziraphale considered it a dismissal. He turned on his heel and left the office, back into the halls. 

He glanced down at the directions to the next place and made his way there, eyes scanning the halls as he went. There were more demons out and about, some with a single angel following, others with a few. He spotted on angel being dragged by a rope around its wrists, trying desperately to get its legs back under it but never quite making it as its master kept a quick pace. 

Aziraphale frowned and averted his gaze. There was so little he could do. As he wound his way through the halls he finally came upon an open door, one that indicated it was the office he sought. He stepped inside, looking around, and upon finding no one approached the desk and rang the bell. 

“Hold on a fucking second,” a voice barked from the back, followed by the sound of something hitting flesh and a weak cry. Aziraphale’s heart began to pound. “Fuckin can’t get a minute alone with -” the demon paused as he came out, staring at Aziraphale. He was a bruiser, a beast, boils all over his face and neck, one horn curving up and away from his head, its twin broken near the base. 

His bright red eyes trailed over Aziraphale as he sneered. “Another fuckin’ angel eh? You look pretty put together for a piece of shit.” 

Aziraphale scowled. “I’ve come to get some paperwork signed for my master.” 

“Ah, you’re a proper little nancy ain’t ya. Bet you’ve got a tight little cunt to go with it.” The demon approached him and Aziraphale stood his ground, temper flaring. What a horrible creature. 

“That’s none of your business,” Aziraphale replied curtly. “I would like you to sign these papers and then I can be off.” 

The bruiser continued to approach until he was right up in Aziraphale’s space, looming over him with broad shoulders and a rotting smile. “Would ya now? You’d like me to sign some papers eh? So your master can confirm his claim on you? You’re a new bitch, I can tell. I can smell it on you. Covered in your master’s scent but just barely.” 

There was a holy fury growing in Aziraphale’s chest. He cursed his collar because he would love nothing more than to smite this beast. 

Instead, he held out the papers. “Your signature, please.” 

The slap echoed through the chamber and Aziraphale’s eyes widened as hot pain sprang from his jaw. He licked his lip and tasted blood, staring up at the demon. 

“You tell your master he outta do that more, help you get your smart mouth under control you prissy little wench.” He yanked the papers out of Aziraphale’s hands and looked at them. “Ya know what? Tell him I’ll sign them when he shows me he knows what to do with a slave.” 

Aziraphale watched as he ripped the paper to shreds and let it drop to the floor. “Be a good bitch and clean that up, would ya? I’ve got business to attend to.” 

“No,” Aziraphale snapped. “You clean it up.” 

“What did you say to me you little whore?” 

“I said,” Aziraphale bit out slowly, “since you seem to be too much of a moron to understand the first time, that  _ you _ ought to clean it up.” 

Another slap. Another jolt of pain. Aziraphale didn’t care. 

“Yes, please, keep marking me up. I’m sure master Crowley will be  _ oh _ so pleased when I return and he sees that his gift from Prince Beelzebub is bruised by another’s hand,” Aziraphale growled. “Would you like to hit me again?” 

The two names - though Aziraphale wasn’t sure which was more powerful - made the demon pause. Then he snarled. “Get the fuck out.” 

“Gladly.” Aziraphale left the chamber, walked down the hall and around the corner, and then ducked into an alcove. He leaned against the wall and reached up to rub his face with a trembling hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Tuesday & Friday!
> 
> I love talking about these idiots. Come hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/). I don't bite.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale returns home with a mark on his face that wasn't given to him by Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all continue to be awesome. Thank you so much for the comments, thoughts, and for reaching out to talk about this fic! I love chatting. This is a warning now that my beta has recently pointed out that I excel at "sexy sad" and I think this chapter ends up being a good example of that. 
> 
> More dub con between Crowley and Aziraphale (though nothing like the last bit). Just as a heads up.

Once he collected himself and rubbed some of the sting out of his jaw, he followed the directions to his final task of the day: the tailor. He came upon a shopfront which startled him. Most of Hell thus far has been doors to offices with name plates. This was different. It had large glass windows in the front that displayed mannequins wearing all sorts of outfits. It looked like the sort of place a discerning demon might want to pick up clothes before a trip to Earth. 

Why didn’t more demons take advantage of it? Miracles could be convenient, sure, but in Aziraphale’s opinion nothing compared to hand tailored clothes. He was surprised Crowley was getting a suit, but supposed this Crowley  _ was _ different from his own. 

The sign above the door referred to the shop as “Hell’s Bell Bottoms,'' a silly name Aziraphale thought but certainly more creative than most of the other places he had seen in Hell. At least they’d made an attempt. He stepped through the door and a bell jingled. Fitting. 

He approached the front desk where an older looking demon sat. He was impressively normal-looking, with short cropped salt-and-pepper hair, tan skin, and eyes the color of copper. Perched on his nose were a pair of reading glasses and he appeared to be deep into some sort of accounting project. He was poring over numbers and didn’t register Aziraphale’s entrance. 

“Ah, excuse me?” He hoped he wasn’t being terribly rude. The demon didn’t even look up. “Er...sir? I’m here to pick up a suit, I think.” 

“You’ll never get his attention, not when he’s that deep in the books,” another voice said. Aziraphale’s gaze snapped to the owner of the voice. Coming out of a back room along the rows of displayed suits was another angel, her corporation taller than his. Perhaps he shouldn’t have assumed pronouns, but it was difficult to conceive otherwise. She was all curves and subtly accented beauty, dressed in a flowing blue gown. She had a soft face, violet eyes, and long silver hair pulled back into a braid. 

His eyes drifted to the marks on her neck, so similar to his though she had many more than he. Some of them looked old and scarred over, faded with time. Aziraphale approached her. 

“I’m glad you’re here then my dear,” Aziraphale said with a smile. She was a calming presence as his eyes wandered over the collar around her neck. Unlike his which was leather and broad, hers was created with delicately twined metals of silver and gold creating a lattice pattern. In the middle sat a lovely lavender gem that matched her eyes.

“How can I help you?” She seemed to be regarding him with the same curiosity as he did her. It was strange to come across another angel who seemed relatively unharmed. 

“I’m here to pick up a suit I believe, for Cro - er,  _ Master _ Crowley.” Aziraphale would have to be more careful about how he addressed Crowley in public. He thought back to Jericho’s reminder about respect. 

“Oh!” The other angel looked delighted. “Master Crowley is quite the kind one, isn’t he? Such a delight. Yes, he wanted us to make a suit but it isn’t ready to be picked up yet. I need to take your measurements first, so we can make sure it is tailored appropriately.” She beamed at him. 

“Sorry?” Aziraphale’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I need to be measured?” 

“Of course, the suit is meant for you.” She tilted her head curiously. “He didn’t tell you?” 

“No,” Aziraphale’s heart thumped in his chest. Crowley was having a suit made for him. Why? How could he  _ know _ about Aziraphale’s appreciation for real clothes? It wouldn’t hold a candle to his suit back on Earth that he was sure lost to time and space now, but it was something wasn’t it? 

“Hopefully it is a nice surprise. Come, I’ll help you. I’m afraid Master Bell isn’t going to be much use to us until his auditing is done.” She put a hand between Aziraphale’s shoulders and led him toward the door to what he assumed was a back room. “I am Nanael.” 

“Aziraphale,” he inclined his head in greeting and followed her to the back where he was led into a dressing room. Once the dressing room door was shut Nanael’s face shifted into something a mite more serious as she reached out and gently touched her fingertips to his lip. 

He flinched. 

“Did Master Crowley do this?” She asked softly. Aziraphale shook his head. 

“No, no, certainly not. He wouldn’t. This was a lovely gift from the fellow in the Angel Slave Management Office.” He scowled. Nanael continued her gentle touch along what he was sure was red and slightly swollen skin from the slap. 

“That would be Master Langathar. I’m surprised you hadn’t met him, he leads most of the orientations. You must have lucked out in getting someone else.” She half-smiled and her hand fell away. “I don’t think Master Crowley will take kindly to him treating you this way.” 

“No, I don’t imagine so.” Silence fell for a single awkward moment before Nanael smiled brightly again. 

“Well, you go ahead and strip out of your things while I go collect the pieces we’ve got so far. Leave nothing except your underwear on, alright?” She turned and left the dressing room, leaving Aziraphale to undress. 

He hesitantly removed his shirt, folding it and setting it on the bench. It wasn’t his favorite thing, being naked in front of a near stranger, particularly a stranger as beautiful as Nanael. She didn’t have an unfortunate pudge around her middle, or padding like his on his hips. He frowned down at the stretch marks on his corporation’s form and wanted very much to put his shirt back on. 

Instead, he unbuttoned his trousers and let them fall to the floor. He bent over and picked them up, folding them and setting them atop his shirt. He made the mistake of glancing at the full length mirror and frowned at the image staring back at him. He was pudgy, soft, all curves and fat. The marks on his neck and shoulder seemed even more stark against his pale skin and he reached up to touch his collar. 

Aziraphale decided he was lucky to have Crowley as his master, if only because the demon was one of the few people who would look at him and not feel some measure of disgust. He looked away from the mirror and resisted the urge to hug himself, to cover his form. 

The door to the dressing room opened back up and Nanael came in pulling along a clothing rack laden with clothes. She set it up near one of the walls and pulled off an undershirt. 

“Here, put this on.” 

They went through the motions that were startlingly familiar to Aziraphale, even though it had been hundreds of years since he’d sat with a tailor. Nanael was kind and good humored, moving Aziraphale into various positions and helping him in and out of clothing with gentle touches. It was easy to get lost in the slide of fabric and soft instructions. 

She measured and pinned and fussed over him until the lovely shell of a suit was molded to fit his form. When she was happy with it she made a pleased noise and helped him shrug back out of everything. 

“How did you get pulled into this work?” Aziraphale asked as he put his clothes back on and Nanael wrote some things down on a notepad. 

“I used to make uniforms and clothing in Heaven,” she answered with a sad smile. “I wasn’t a particularly important angel, but I enjoyed the work.” 

“Sounds important to me,” he pointed out. “And your master? Is he kind?” 

“Master Bell? Oh certainly. I mean, I think he only has me out of necessity, because he wanted help running this place. But he’s kind enough, rather indifferent most of the time.” There was a flash of disappointment on her face as she said it and Aziraphale found that curious. Perhaps negative attention was still attention, and he wondered how many of his kin spent long, lonely nights tucked away out of their master’s thoughts. 

It made him think of the long evening when he was nearly convinced Crowley wasn’t going to return and his heart clenched in sympathy. 

“He certainly shows me attention when he needs to, though,” she motioned to her claim mark. “And he’s rather kind about that all things considered. I’ve heard much worse from other angels.” 

“Do you talk with many?” This was interesting, he thought. This was his first communication with another angel so he had assumed it wasn’t terribly common, but it could be a source of information if he could figure out how to tap into it. He tried not to appear eager about the information. 

“Some from time to time. It isn’t encouraged, of course, but sometimes it is unavoidable. Masters visit each other and we coordinate with other slaves to manage the visit. Sometimes we’re able to steal away for short visits in the halls between tasks. We share tips and tricks, information, things to help each other…” She trailed off and suddenly looked nervous. “You have to keep this between us, though, please.” 

“Of course, of course I will,” Aziraphale assured her though he imagined any demon worth their salt would be aware that some degree of information sharing was happening between angels. “Do you know what’s happened to the archangels?” 

Nanael kept her hands busy with straightening up the clothing rack. “Gabriel belongs to Prince Beelzebub, Michael with Lord Dagon. Sandalphon, last I heard, was a... _ shared _ slave.” She looked pained. 

“What does that mean? Shared slave?” 

Nanael gave him a strange look. “You really haven’t been around long have you. Most of us go to specific owners, who collar us,” she touched her own, then reached out and gently touched Aziraphale’s. “We belong to them, to claim and to command. Shared slaves don’t have a single master. They are at the beck and call of whoever is interested in using them that day and it isn’t usually pretty. I believe I last saw him in Master Hastur’s hands and I pity anyone who becomes his slave.” 

She paused and glanced around before stepping closer. “Some demons,” she whispered, “aren’t allowed to have slaves to themselves. It is an honor, a reward from the war, and some demons were left out. In order to keep them from rioting we think management devised the shared slave plan. It is just rumors, maybe they always intended for it, but the likes of Master Hastur weren’t given slaves of their own. They only have access to ones like Sandalphon.” 

Aziraphale tried to ignore the sick sensation in his gut. It was a lot to think about, a lot to take in. Being shared sounded terrible and it must have shown on his face because Nanael touched his cheek and leaned in to press her forehead to his. It soothed him, angelic warmth drifting between them as he reached out to put his hand on her wrist. Somewhere deep inside of them divine energy still flowed, still connected them. 

“You have nothing to fear with Master Crowley. I’ve seen a lot of masters in my short time here and he is different than most of them.” Nanael lingered close to Aziraphale for a few more precious moments before she stepped back, their connection severed. Aziraphale felt the loss and mourned it. 

“I think you’re right,” Aziraphale replied. “Are we finished here?” 

“Of course. I will make sure this makes it into our workload and we’ll get the items tailored and in the colors Master Crowley requested.” She scribbled something on a notepad and then pulled off the page, handing it to Aziraphale. “Show him this, as proof you came today. The suit should be ready in a couple of days.” 

“Wonderful.” Aziraphale walked out with her, not looking forward to leaving but grateful that he would have an excuse to see her again in a few days. He cast a glance at Bell, the demon behind the counter, one last time to find he was still deeply engrossed in his work. He looked back at Nanael and offered her a smile. “Take care, my dear.” 

“You too, Aziraphale. Please let Master Crowley know we’re grateful for his business.” 

“Of course.” He bowed slightly and left the shop, the bell jingling again. 

Back in the halls, he started his way toward home.  _ Home _ , he realized. The closest approximation he had to it anyway. As his understanding of the world he’d been thrust into widened, he became increasingly grateful to have a place to return to. 

“Looks like your master is finally using you correctly,” a familiar voice said from behind him. Aziraphale stiffened and tried to hide the displeased curl of his lips in an insincere smile. He turned to find Hastur standing there, Ligur nowhere to be seen. “We’ll see how long it lasts before he gets bored with you.” 

“Is there something I can help you with?” Aziraphale asked, trying to affect a bored tone. “Because I have things to do and I’d rather not get behind.” 

Hastur’s eyes flashed as they drifted to Aziraphale’s mouth and then down to his neck. 

“I look forward to the day that collar gets ripped off your throat and you get tossed to the masses, you little shit.” Hastur grinned, teeth blackened and decaying. “We’ll see about humbling you then, since Crowley hasn’t done much of a job of it.” 

Aziraphale turned and continued walking and he heard Hastur’s footsteps behind him. 

“Watch your back,” Hastur warned, then Aziraphale heard him walking in the other direction down the hallway. Once he believed himself to be out of his view he hastened his footsteps, not at all interested in any other run-ins. Arriving back at the front door to Crowley’s home he let himself in and headed into the kitchen to drop off his bag. He left the receipt that Nanael had given him on top of it. 

Aziraphale spent the rest of the afternoon preparing a simple pasta and chicken dish for dinner and reading, waiting for Crowley to return home. 

A few hours later the front door opened and closed and Crowley appeared in the entryway to the library where Aziraphale sat on a cushioned arm chair, buried in a book. He glanced up and smiled at Crowley who smiled back for a moment before it turned into a frown. 

“What happened to your face, angel?” Crowley asked as he crossed the room. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale had nearly forgotten. He licked the split in his lip. “I’m afraid I wasn’t able to get the paperwork you needed from the Angel Slave Management Office. He ripped it up and told me to come back when you had learned what to do with a slave.” Aziraphale grimaced at the memory. 

“Stand up, let me see,” Crowley gently pulled him to his feet and reached up to touch his face. Aziraphale flinched and closed his eyes with a heavy sigh. Crowley’s thumb brushed over his lip as his hand came up to cup Aziraphale’s jaw. Warmth radiated out from the touch and Aziraphale realized with a start that Crowley had healed him. 

He opened his eyes and peered at Crowley who kept his hand on Aziraphale’s face. There was a conflict raging in those goldenrod eyes of his and Aziraphale’s concern mounted. “Crowley?” 

“I’ll make sure he’s punished,” Crowley hissed under his breath. “He should know better than to touch another demon’s property like that, let alone leave  _ marks _ .” Crowley’s gaze drifted to the mark on Aziraphale’s shoulder and the energy between them changed, becoming slightly more charged. It reminded Aziraphale a bit of the night he was claimed and he became nervous. The last thing he wanted was to experience that again so soon. He whimpered. 

“You’re  _ mine _ , angel,” Crowley growled. “He had no right to do this. If I have to kick his ass myself I will…” Aziraphale noticed the way Crowley’s breathing shortened and he pressed closer to him, nearly knocking him back into the chair. “You have my scent on you, my mark, that should be claim enough but perhaps it isn’t.” 

Crowley’s cat-eye pupils dilated and Aziraphale shook his head and reached up to grab Crowley’s wrist. 

“Please don’t,” Aziraphale whispered. “Please.” He couldn’t. He couldn’t do it again. He was supposed to have days, maybe even a week, before he had to subject himself to claws and teeth and Crowley brutally taking him. He needed time to come up with another solution and Crowley had  _ promised _ . 

“Angel…” Crowley stared at his face and then leaned in, brushing his lips against Aziraphale’s cheek. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it. The thought of someone else touching you, hurting you.” 

“Let me give you something else,” Aziraphale offered. “I don’t need to be claimed, not yet, the bite hasn’t healed. Let me,” he swallowed, “here.” Slowly, carefully, so as not to provoke Crowley, Aziraphale sank onto his knees. Crowley stared down at him, eyes wide, pupils blown. He tracked every movement. 

Crowley’s jeans were tight enough that he could already make out his arousal. “Let me do this for you,  _ sir _ ,” he murmured, then leaned forward and pressed an open mouthed kiss to the dark denim concealing his bulge. Crowley inhaled sharply and buried his fingers in Aziraphale’s curls, tugging lightly then encouraging him forward. 

“Yesss,” Crowley hissed, losing control of his tongue in the heat of it. 

Aziraphale occupied himself with teasing through the fabric for a while until the black was darkened with his own saliva. Then he reached up and undid the button, pulling the zipper down slowly before he hooked his fingers beneath the waist and pulled them down Crowley’s hips. He’d fantasized about this probably a hundred times, if not a thousand, over his lifetime. He was a glutton, a hedonist, and the thought of getting to taste Crowley had always seemed like the ultimate prize. 

He didn’t mind this so much, assuming he could keep it at this. If he could win Crowley over with a blowjob and avoid another round of claiming for a couple more days he’d consider it a victory. The fact that he might actually enjoy it was a lovely bonus. 

Aziraphale didn’t bother pulling Crowley’s trousers completely down. He left them just below mid-thigh, running his fingertips over the heated length of him in his briefs. There was a damp spot on the front of them already and Aziraphale leaned forward to taste it, lapping at the precome soaked fabric as Crowley rocked into the sensation with a groan. 

Oh yes, he could enjoy this. Especially the way Crowley’s fingers tightened and then released his hair with every touch of Aziraphale’s lips to his clothed erection. 

“Angel,” Crowley breathed out, groaning. Aziraphale chanced a glance up and found Crowley with his head tilted back and his eyes closed. 

“Master,” Aziraphale replied and heard Crowley’s breath hitch and enjoyed the way his eyes flew open and he stared down at him. 

“Say that again,” Crowley whispered as he reached down to rub his thumb over Aziraphale’s wet bottom lip. 

“ _ Master _ ,” Aziraphale said and opened his mouth to lick at Crowley’s thumb. Then he guided the hand back to his hair and returned his attention to Crowley’s cock straining beneath the fabric, running his tongue over the cotton and enjoying the way Crowley twitched beneath his attention. 

“You’re a tease, Aziraphale,” Crowley hissed. 

“And I’d say you like it,” Aziraphale replied with a cheeky little grin, lapping again at the rigid outline of the head of Crowley’s cock before he reached up and began to slowly pull down his underwear. It was nice to feel in control for once, to lead. It was a completely different experience to being claimed. 

Crowley’s cock sprang free, red and leaking. Crowley hissed and reached down with his free hand to stroke himself a couple of times, leaning forward enough to rub precome along Aziraphale’s lips. He gladly lapped it up, marveling at the salty taste and musky scent that came from being so close to Crowley. Aziraphale stuck his tongue out, mouth open, and let Crowley rest the head of his cock against it. He put his lips around the head and lapped at it, not touching it, not doing anything more but staring up at Crowley with his cock barely in his mouth. 

“Oh angel,” Crowley carded both hands through his hair. “Suck me, now.” 

He didn’t need to be told twice as he reached up to wrap his fingers around the base of his cock and took more of it into his mouth, enjoying the way the soft skin felt against his tongue. Aziraphale gave a little moan, taking Crowley in nearly as far as he could before pulling back and laving attention on the head. Then he took him into his mouth again, tongue working over the heated flesh, getting it slick so when he pulled off the next time he could focus on pressing his tongue against the slit while his hand stroked his spit over the length of him. 

Crowley watched, enraptured, some of the earlier tension and intensity fading into a look of warm, fond arousal. He continued to twine his fingers in Aziraphale’s hair, holding without guiding, pleased enough it seemed with the choices Aziraphale made. 

“You’re beautiful,” Crowley breathed out. “And you’ve done this before.” 

Aziraphale couldn’t resist a coy smile. “A time or two,” he replied before he slid Crowley back into the heat of his mouth, taking him down until his nose pressed into the coarse hairs at his pelvis. It dragged a surprised, shocked noise out of the back of Crowley’s throat as Aziraphale pushed just a little further and purposely choked around him. 

“Shit!” Crowley hissed, body tense even as Aziraphale pulled back off to catch his breath, tongue continuing to explore the ridges and dips of Crowley’s cock. 

Aziraphale set a comfortable pace, bobbing his head over most of Crowley’s cock while his hand stroked the rest in time with his movements. They settled into a rhythm, Crowley’s hips moving gently in time with Aziraphale. He brought his free hand to the back of Crowley’s thigh, fingers exploring the soft hairs and skin covered in goosebumps. He might not get Crowley like this again anytime soon and he planned to take advantage, if only for his comfort, because it felt nice to touch and please. 

He used that very same hand to slide Crowley’s trousers and pants down below his knees so his fingertips could find the sensitive backs of them and stroke fondly as he took Crowley in all the way again. It drew a lovely  _ whimper _ from Crowley and Aziraphale could feel him shudder as he continued to brush his fingers from behind his knee back up along the back of his thigh. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley panted, his hips moving a bit more in earnest now. Aziraphale would recognize that tight note of concern anywhere. He smiled around the cock in his mouth as he pulled back and lapped up the precome at the head, his hand stroking the length of Crowley as he gazed up at him. His hand came around and pushed up Crowley’s shirt so he could splay his hand across his warm belly, admiring the flush he was certain went all the way up to his chest. 

“Come for me,” Aziraphale murmured, “please, master.” He began stroking him in earnest now, Crowley’s eyes widening as Aziraphale pressed his tongue to the underside of the head and stared up at him, smitten, his hand still resting on Crowley’s abdomen, enjoying the way Crowley’s muscles tightened and released with his movements. 

“Angel, angel, fuck, say it again,” he groaned as his hand covered Aziraphale’s and joined him, guiding him, stroking faster as he neared his end. 

“Come for me, master,” Aziraphale begged. “Please, I’m yours.” He pressed his tongue back up against the underside of Crowley’s cock and that was it, Crowley’s whole body tensed as he came with a gasp that faded into a low groan. Aziraphale closed his eyes as he felt the heat of Crowley’s release on his tongue, then on his cheek, his lips. It was his turn to groan as Crowley marked him in a very different way. 

When he finally opened his eyes he found liquid gold staring down at him, a look of bliss on Crowley’s face as they both released his cock and Crowley reached forward to smear his come along Aziraphale’s bottom lip, paying special attention to where it had been split earlier. 

“Mine,” Crowley whispered and Aziraphale flicked his tongue out to lick Crowley’s thumb, humming. 

“Yours,” he answered, grateful and warm, glad this had worked to soothe whatever beast lay inside of Crowley. Crowley carded his fingers pleasantly through Aziraphale’s hair as they both basked in a job well done. Aziraphale traced the line of hair along Crowley’s belly and then leaned forward to kiss the quivering skin where his hand had been, all too aware of the mess he was making. 

“Ugh, angel,” Crowley grumbled, tugging playfully at his hair. “Come on, up. Now we both need to get cleaned up.” 

That surprised him, considering Crowley was more than capable of miracling the mess away, but he got up to his feet and watched as Crowley yanked his too-tight trousers up over his underwear after he tucked himself away. He expected to be led to the bathroom but instead, with a light touch on his lower back, he was led into Crowley’s bedroom. 

“Sit,” Crowley instructed, motioning to the foot of the bed. A lamp flicked on somewhere behind Aziraphale. Aziraphale sat, licking his lips and resisting the urge to wipe at the mess on his face. Crowley returned a moment later with a cloth and reached up to take Aziraphale’s chin in his hand, tilting his face up. 

“Almost seems a shame to wipe it off,” Crowley said with a hungry look in his eye. Despite that, he reached forward with the cloth and began to gently wipe the mess off of Aziraphale’s face. 

Aziraphale didn’t reply, just closed his eyes and enjoyed the gentle attention. The cloth was warm and Crowley was thorough, tilting Aziraphale’s head this way and that until he was satisfied. The cloth, of all things, was then miracled away as Crowley continued to hold Aziraphale’s face in his hands. 

“You’re very clever, you know that?” Crowley murmured and Aziraphale opened his eyes to peer up at him. He hesitantly reached out to rest his hands on Crowley’s hips, looking for any sign of displeasure on Crowley’s part. There was none, so Aziraphale let his thumbs slip beneath Crowley’s shirt to rub against the prominent dips he found there. 

“How so?” Aziraphale asked as Crowley’s thumb brushed up along his cheekbone. 

“Subverting another claiming, offering an alternative. This is all new to me and the instinct is strong but you, on your knees, offering  _ that _ .” Crowley shrugged, reaching up to card his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair. “It scratched the itch.” 

“I think they call it being horny, dear,” Aziraphale teased and Crowley huffed. 

“It is, but on steroids. I can’t guarantee that it will work every time, though. I will eventually need to claim you again.” Crowley looked troubled by that. 

“No luck on figuring out another way?” Aziraphale asked, remembering Crowley’s promise. Crowley’s face fell. 

“Not yet. Research on this kind of thing isn’t exactly abundant. It is so new and yet embedded in the social fabric I’m not sure yet what the alternative would be.” Crowley curled his fingers against Aziraphale’s scalp, scratching gently. Aziraphale hummed and closed his eyes. 

“We’ll think of something,” Aziraphale assured him. Crowley continued to touch him gently, fingertips dragging over the curve of Aziraphale’s nose, along his cheek bones, over his jaw, and then down to his collar. Then Crowley’s hands rested on his shoulders and he was pushed back onto the bed. 

“Scoot up,” Crowley whispered and Aziraphale opened his eyes to stare up at him. Crowley regarded him with uncertainty. “Trust me.” 

Aziraphale exhaled slowly but scooted up to be more properly on the bed, laying back. Crowley leaned forward with his knees on the bed, his body over Aziraphale’s. He leaned down and nuzzled at his cheek and then pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth before he reached up and tilted Aziraphale’s head to the side. 

The measured way Crowley moved him drew a soft, uncertain whimper from the back of Aziraphale’s throat. He felt like the center of the world, Crowley tense and focused. Then Crowley’s mouth was on his jaw, open and hot, tongue tasting and dragging. Aziraphale tried to control his breathing and squirmed, but Crowley’s hand on his chin tightened ever-so-slightly in warning and Aziraphale relaxed. 

“Trust me,” Crowley whispered again against his skin as he pressed kisses to the underside of Aziraphale’s jaw. Aziraphale didn’t have a choice. Warmth was pooling in his stomach and slightly below as he responded to Crowley’s controlled kisses. Then he felt the prick of fangs just beneath his pulse and gasped as Crowley bit him gently. 

Aziraphale’s hands scrambled to hold onto something, anything, as Crowley sucked what was likely a bruise into his neck. One hand found Crowley’s soft hair, the other the comforter. He whined as Crowley kissed the bite and then moved below, just above his collar, where he did it again and soothed it with his tongue. 

“Sir,” Aziraphale whimpered and Crowley growled pleasantly against his skin, pressing a kiss below the leather of his collar and marking him yet again. 

It was perhaps the first time since all of this had started that Aziraphale actually felt aroused, his hips moving of their own accord. Crowley hummed against his skin, nipping and nibbling as Aziraphale continued to curl his fingers through Crowley’s hair. 

“I can smell your arousal, feel your desire,” Crowley whispered hotly into his ear, teeth grazing the shell of it. “I can smell  _ you _ , and you smell like me.” 

“I -” Aziraphale swallowed around his nerves. “Er, I’m glad. A few others m-mentioned that,” he let his head fall back against the bed as Crowley worked his mouth against a spot just under Aziraphale’s ear. It was distracting. “That they could smell you on me.” 

“All part of the claiming,” Crowley murmured, sounding distracted as he brushed his nose down along the side of Aziraphale’s neck, nuzzling just above his collar. “Do you want this?” Crowley asked quietly. “May I touch you?” 

“You want to?” Aziraphale asked, startled and beginning to tremble. 

“I want to  _ reward _ you,” Crowley replied. “You deserve pleasure, Aziraphale. Especially if I can’t figure out an alternative to claiming.” Crowley sat back so they could make eye contact, his thumb brushing along Aziraphale’s lower lip again. “Would you let me?” 

This was another fantasy, though not in these circumstances. It left Aziraphale a little bewildered and not entirely sure. Crowley stopped touching him, waiting, and Aziraphale was warmed by it. There was no force here, nothing but  _ choice _ , and that was something he had little and less of in this strange new world. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale finally answered. 

“Look at me, angel,” Crowley instructed gently and Aziraphale obeyed, gazing up at him. “You’re not obligated.” 

“Yes,” Aziraphale repeated, leaning up to kiss Crowley’s chin. “Please.” 

“Oh angel,” Crowley murmured fondly, and for a moment Aziraphale thought he was going to kiss him. Instead, his heart dropped when Crowley instead kissed beneath his chin, then back down his throat. He balanced so that one of his hands could slide down Aziraphale’s body, catching the hem of Aziraphale’s tunic and rucking it up to touch his belly. 

Aziraphale’s muscles jumped in surprise and he turned his head away from Crowley, who took it as an invitation to take his earlobe into his mouth and suck on it, dragging his teeth over it. Thankfully, Crowley’s hand didn’t linger long and slid lower, fondling him through the soft fabric of his trousers. Aziraphale’s hips jerked and he inhaled sharply, Crowley moving on from his earlobe to press an open mouthed kiss to that wonderfully sensitive spot beneath his ear. 

“Hard for me already angel?” Crowley asked as he rubbed his palm along the length of Aziraphale. His tone was pitched low, breath hot on his ear. “You’re gorgeous like this.” 

“Hardly,” Aziraphale whispered, shaking his head. Gorgeous was a stretch. He reached down to try and subtly push his shirt back down but Crowley’s hand moved from him to his wrist in an instant, pinning it to the bed. 

“Hush,” Crowley chastised. “I know what I like and I’ll not have you hide.” Aziraphale shuddered and Crowley kissed his cheek and nuzzled. “You’re okay angel, I have you. Just relax and let go. This is a reward, meant to make you feel good.” 

WIth nothing else to say, Aziraphale merely whined in reply and Crowley released his hand, reaching back down to palm him. “How about we get your trousers off, hm? Or at least get you out of them.” Crowley toyed with the fly, deftly unfastening the button and pulling the zipper down. He had to shift his position to straddle Aziraphale’s legs so he could get a good hold on them. 

“Lift your hips,” he instructed, and Aziraphale did so, shivering as Crowley slid his trousers down beyond his knees. He brought his hand back up to stroke Aziraphale through his underwear a few times, his thumb teasing at the head where Aziraphale was already leaking into the fabric. His hips jerked into it and he bit back a plea as Crowley glanced up and moved his thumb around the damp fabric more slowly. “Don’t hold back,” he insisted. “I want to hear you.” 

“Please,” Aziraphale whimpered. “Crowley…” 

“I like it when you say my name like that,” Crowley admitted and then hooked his fingers under the waistband of Aziraphale’s underwear, pulling them down and over his hips. Aziraphale’s cock came to rest heavily against his belly. 

Crowley lifted his palm to Aziraphale’s mouth. “A little help?” 

Aziraphale huffed and then reached up to take Crowley’s wrist, bringing the palm to his mouth. He kissed the center of it and then laved his tongue against the lines of his palm, leaving wet trails and tracing the creases. He got it as wet as he could before he let go and pressed his head back into the bed, panting. 

“Good, angel, that was so good.” Crowley’s praise made him twitch but he didn’t get long to think about it because the hand he’d just wet wrapped around him and he cried out in surprise. His hips jerked into the touch as Crowley stroked him once, then twice, leaning down to whisper into his ear. “That’s right Aziraphale, let go, fuck my hand, let me take care of you.” 

It had been so long since anyone had touched him like this that the sensation was electric. Crowley’s hand was warm and wet, his mouth pressed up against Aziraphale’s pulse, worrying the skin. Physically it felt wonderful, but there was doubt beginning to take root in the back of Aziraphale’s mind. This was just a reward, a quid-pro-quo for giving Crowley a blowjob, something positive to cling to before the next round of painful claiming. 

He closed his eyes against the sudden wave of emotion that brought nausea with it, his arousal flagging. This wasn’t what he wanted. Not really. It was Crowley’s hand and Crowley’s body beside him but it wasn’t really  _ Crowley _ was it? Crowley, who he imagined would kiss him thoroughly on the lips before touching him. Who would whisper endearments and tell him he loved him. 

He suddenly very, very dearly missed his life. 

“Angel, shh,” Crowley’s hands were cupping his face now and he realized he was crying. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, what did I do? Whatever it was I didn’t mean to hurt you.” His underwear and trousers had been pulled up but left unfastened, his arousal completely gone. There was desperation in Crowley’s voice and Aziraphale reached out for him, wrapped his arms around his shoulders and pressed his face into the curve of Crowley’s neck as he wept. 

Crowley, for his part, sat back and shifted them around until he had his back to the head of the bed, Aziraphale cradled in his arms. He rocked him gently, carding a hand through his hair and shushing him. “I’m sorry,” he continued to whisper into his hair. “I’ve got you. I’m sorry.” 

Aziraphale reached up to rest his hand on Crowley’s shoulder, gripping onto his shirt as he mourned the loss of everything he knew. Somewhere deep within him there was a spark of hope, a belief that he would figure out a way to get it all back. But before that was despair, and longing, and a keen realization that he was going to have to go through all of this without his best friend by his side. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates Tuesdays & Fridays!
> 
> Come yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/).


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley tries to make dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? A bonus chapter? You bet. Since it is Thanksgiving here in the States, I wanted to show my thanks to everyone who has been reading, commenting, engaging, and responding to this fic! You guys have made me so wildly happy and made writing this infinitely more fun. I can't believe I almost didn't post this! 
> 
> Again, my thanks to Kazeetie for being an amazing beta! And yes, there will still be the regular chapter tomorrow :)

Crowley rocked Aziraphale until he had cried himself out and the hand in his shirt went lax. The angel had drifted to sleep in his arms, cheeks tear stained, face red. He lowered him gently onto the bed, pulled a blanket over him, and tucked him in. He smoothed Aziraphale’s curls back from his face and frowned. 

He’d fucked up. He wasn’t quite sure  _ how _ he’d fucked up, but Aziraphale had slipped from aroused and moaning to sobbing in such a short amount of time. He wished he could figure out what did it, what triggered it. 

_ You know what triggered it _ , he thought. He shouldn’t have tried to reciprocate in the first place. Of course an angel like Aziraphale didn’t really want a demon touching him. Everything he’d done until now he’d done to avoid pain, or to lessen it. The blowjob, however wonderful it had been, however exhilarating it was to have Aziraphale on his knees, was a ploy. A necessity. A way of avoiding the pain of a claiming coming again too soon. 

He left the angel sleeping in his bed and made his way into the kitchen where he poured a glass of scotch and downed it. Then he poured another, sipping it as the liquor burned down his throat. Crowley should have listened to his own advice - Aziraphale couldn’t consent, not really. Everything was tarnished by the situation he was in, the unbalanced power dynamic they inevitably had to adhere to. 

There was no way he could ever view what he and Aziraphale did together as anything but coerced, even when consent was freely given. No angel in their right mind would want to derive pleasure from a demon. Why had Crowley thought he was any different? Because he treated Aziraphale kindly? Because he didn’t abuse him at every turn? No, that didn’t make him  _ good _ , it just made him  _ less terrible _ than his colleagues. 

As he sipped the scotch he opened the fridge and frowned in confusion. In a baking dish there appeared to be uncooked, breaded chicken. Next to it was a bowl of cooked pasta, and in another container was some sort of sauce. Aziraphale had prepped dinner before Crowley walked in, saw the marks on his face, and everything went downhill. They could have been sharing wine and eating dinner, but instead Aziraphale was napping in his bed after sobbing into Crowley’s chest. 

“Fuck.” Crowley shut the fridge and pressed his forehead against the door. Aziraphale had been hurt, abused by some asshole in the slave management office, and Crowley had abused him some more in a far more intimate way. Why did his brain have to shut off higher functioning when faced with the damn angel? Is this what the rest of them felt when they peered into their slave’s eyes right before brutalizing them? 

He set the remainder of his scotch aside and managed to find a garbage can to puke the liquid up into it. It burned more coming up than it had going down. He was such a wretched creature. 

Once the vomit was seen to and he washed his mouth out in the sink he stood in front of the oven and stared at it. 

“I can bake chicken,” he told it. “You’ll help me. You’ll be at the exact temperature I need you to be at, and when I take that damned chicken out it’ll be cooked and golden brown. Understood?” 

The oven, of course, said nothing in return. He was pretty sure it got the message. If he couldn’t make Aziraphale feel better one way, he’d at least make sure the dinner he’d worked hard to prepare didn’t go to waste. Then he could go gently wake the angel up and try to make up for hijacking the evening. He put the oven on to preheat and didn’t miss the way the numbers shifted up to a higher temperature without his influence. 

Yes, the message had been received loud and clear. He expected the oven to do right by him, so it would. 

Once the oven beeped, he pulled the baking dish out of the fridge. It was already covered in tinfoil, so he popped it into the oven and shut the door. “Don’t disappoint me.” 

He then set about pulling out the pasta and sauce. The sauce he dumped into a saucepan on the stovetop, letting it heat up to a low simmer as he transferred the pasta into a glass serving bowl he could microwave. He left that for last and dug around in the pantry until, as he expected, he pulled a baguette out. With butter and some garlic, he split the untoasted bread and slathered both on it and then put it on a baking sheet. 

When the chicken was done he would pop it into the oven and make garlic bread. What pasta meal wasn’t enhanced by the inclusion of garlic bread? It was how he had managed to make Olive Garden a thing. Never ending breadsticks but questionable service where the rest of the food came out lukewarm was exactly the sort of thing to provoke mild ire in an average human. 

There were no Olive Gardens left on Earth now, though, disappointingly. All that hard work gone in a puff of hellfire. Famine had never been a fan anyway. If only he’d tried the breadsticks. 

Dinner was enough of a distraction that Crowley could distance himself from the disaster he’d created. He could focus on pasta and sauce, chicken that needed to be broiled after being cooked for a nice brown crust, and garlic bread. He thought about what wine he would choose for the evening and wondered if Aziraphale would feel up to a glass. He hoped he would, he had an inkling the angel was fond of wine. 

“Crowley?” A slightly hoarse voice came from the archway into the kitchen and Crowley glanced over. The familiar way Aziraphale always said his name tickled something in the back of his mind. He’d just shut off the sauce as the chicken was nearly ready and the pasta was steaming on the counter. 

“Angel,” Crowley replied gently and definitely withheld the urge to cross over and touch him. Aziraphale likely didn’t want that. He’d been touched enough by Crowley as it was. 

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale murmured. “I’d meant to heat everything up…” He looked exhausted, but he’d clearly wiped his face down before seeking Crowley out. 

“You left me the easy bit. I even made some garlic bread.” He wondered if his smile looked as weak as it felt. Crowley didn’t know how to make any of this better, but something deep in his chest yearned to make the angel smile. 

“I can smell it.” Aziraphale glanced down at the floor. Crowley finally gave in to his impulse and crossed over to him. It was enough to get Aziraphale to lift his gaze from the floor. 

“Alright, angel?” A stupid question, but he didn’t know what else to say. 

“Quite.” He reached out and rested a hand on Crowley’s upper arm which was all the invitation he needed to fold the angel into a hug. Aziraphale nestled against him, face pressed into the curve of his neck. Crowley rubbed a hand up and down his back and barely held back the urge to brush a kiss to the top of his head. Instead, he settled for burying his nose in his white-blonde curls. 

If this brought Aziraphale even a measure of comfort, it was worth it. He’d hug the angel every day. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it must be like for him to wake up in a cage and discover he was  _ owned _ . It made Crowley’s stomach lurch, the whole structure of angelic slavery did, but there was so little he could do except show as much compassion as he could. 

He had to figure out a way around the claiming. 

“C’mon,” he said encouragingly, squeezing Aziraphale and then releasing him from the hug. He led him over to the chair and pulled it out, motioning for him to sit. Aziraphale did, and Crowley pushed in the chair and left him to return to the oven to pull out the garlic bread. 

“The chicken is meant to be cut up,” Aziraphale said quietly from the table. “Pasta, then sauce, then the chicken on top if you would. Or I could do it…” He made a move to get up but Crowley shot him a look. 

“Let me, angel. Please.”  _ You’ve done enough _ , he wanted to say, but imagined it likely wouldn’t be taken the way he meant it to. He followed the instructions, plating up pasta with sauce and chicken. He added chunks of garlic bread and, when Aziraphale wasn’t looking, miracled a salad that looked suspiciously like what they served at Olive Garden. 

He brought it all to the table and set down two plates, then returned to the cupboards to get out silverware and track down napkins. Once the table was set he disappeared back into the pantry and found a decent bottle of red wine, one of many he’d smuggled back to Hell from Earth before...well. Everything happened. 

“Would you like a glass, angel?” Crowley asked as he uncorked the bottle and poured one for himself. 

Aziraphale watched him warily, a war waging across his face before he nodded. “Yes, please.” 

Crowley tried not to grin as he poured a second glass. Aziraphale looked a little perkier after taking a sip, some of his haunted expression slipping away. He slid into the seat across from Aziraphale and gathered up some pasta and chicken on his fork, tasting. 

It was good. He was surprised. Crowley was not the biggest fan of food and while he’d failed to bring Aziraphale cookbooks, somehow the angel had managed to pull this all together. It was impressive. He watched as Aziraphale prissily cut up his pasta before twirling the shorter strands, subtly enjoying each and every bite he took. 

“I assume you spent a lot of time on Earth?” Crowley asked, realizing he didn’t know much about the angel. Aziraphale froze mid-bite and stared up at Crowley like a deer in the headlights. It hadn’t seemed like a difficult question but now Crowley was beginning to wonder if he’d overstepped. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale answered carefully. “A bit.” 

“Surprised I never ran into you, outside of the whole garden business. I would have expected Heaven to have someone around to thwart my wiles and all that,” he gestured with his fork before taking another bite of his dinner. 

“Right.” Aziraphale frowned and averted his gaze, staring down at his pasta which he pushed around on the plate before finally taking another bite. An awkward silence fell over them. Crowley was fucking up left and right and he wasn’t sure how to dig his way back out of his hole. 

Then he remembered what Aziraphale had told him and he began to wonder how much of it was a delusion and how much of it could possibly be true. It made him uncomfortable to think about. If they were friends in some other version of the universe then it made more sense as to why Aziraphale was so easy to upset whenever it came to Crowley. If, and it was a strong  _ if _ that was the case, then he must be some strange caricature. A friend in appearance only, missing the depth that 6000 years of friendship grants a relationship. 

It was all impossible.  _ Or ineffable _ , his mind unhelpfully supplied and he was momentarily confused. 

“Sir?” Aziraphale asked, concerned. Crowley shook his head and stared across at the angel. 

“Hm?” 

“You, er, looked a bit...gone, for a moment.” Aziraphale frowned. “Everything alright?” 

“Yes, was just thinking. Dangerous thing to do.” He took a deep drink of his wine. 

A tense silence fell over them and Crowley wished he knew how to relieve it. Aziraphale held himself rigidly in his chair, picking at his food. 

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said finally, the words hot on his tongue. “For touching you.” 

Aziraphale looked startled by that even as his cheeks colored. He glanced up at Crowley and then back at his food. “Quite alright. It wasn’t bad.” 

“Aziraphale.” Crowley frowned as the angel looked up at him. “You started crying.” 

“Right. That.” Aziraphale looked guilty, which was the last thing he wanted. “It is hard, you and I. I know you don’t believe me when I tell you I know you but regardless, it complicates things.” 

“Can you tell me about it?” Crowley asked as gently as possible. The guilt on Aziraphale’s face shifted into something far more akin to suspicion. Great. He’d done a wonderful job establishing trust, hadn’t he. 

“It doesn’t matter much,” Aziraphale replied as he reached out and took another sip of wine. 

“What was I like?” 

“ _ Nice _ .” Crowley made a face and Aziraphale’s lips quirked into a ghost of a smile. 

“Now I know you’re not telling the truth,” Crowley teased, enjoying the way Aziraphale’s face relaxed as they fell into gentle banter. 

“Hard to believe, I know,” Aziraphale conceded. “But you were. A demon still, and a wily one at that, but you brought me chocolates when I opened my bookshop and listened to me rant about the bureaucracy of Heaven, and you messed with Gabriel when it suited you and you knew it would make me happy.” 

There was a wistful look on Aziraphale’s face and Crowley wondered if it could be true. He’d seen people deep in delusions before, but they were normally negative things. Or wildly exaggerated. This all seemed so normal. 

“You had a bookshop?” Crowley realized too late it was the wrong question. The look of grief that passed across Aziraphale’s face was almost too much to handle. 

“Yes.” Aziraphale pushed his plate away and looked a bit ill. 

“You know I feel as if I keep shoving my foot in my mouth,” Crowley admitted. There was no point in trying to dig out of this subtly. “And I’m sorry.” 

“It has been a long day,” Aziraphale replied. “And I’m a bit tired.” He picked up the wine and took a long drink. 

“Is there anything I can do?” Now all Crowley could do was grasp at straws. He wanted the smile to return to the angel’s face. He wanted to see his shoulders loose and relaxed. 

“Allow me to clean up,” Aziraphale began, then hesitated. He carefully met Crowley’s eyes. “Then perhaps you might read to me?” 

Warmth flooded Crowley’s chest. It was another piece of the Aziraphale puzzle that he could slot into place to try and understand the bigger picture. Perhaps he didn’t want sexual intimacy, but simple pleasures were still in play. He’d have to think further about what else he could do with the angel to try and reduce the sting of living in Hell. 

“Of course, angel. Clean up and I’ll meet you in your room.” It was a start. Crowley watched as Aziraphale polished off the wine and collected their plates, the clink of ceramic starting up behind him as Aziraphale set to washing up. 

Crowley finished his wine and set the glass on the counter before he wandered into his library to look over the book options. He pulled one from the shelf,  _ The Picture of Dorian Grey _ , and left it on Aziraphale’s nightstand on top of  _ The Canterbury Tales _ as he made his way down the hall to get changed. 

He chose a pair of soft flannel sleeping pants and a button up shirt to match before he made his way back to Aziraphale’s bedroom. The angel was already on the bed, dressed in his own pajamas, hair a little tousled. At least he looked better than he had earlier, a little more alive and flushed from the wine. 

Crowley walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. “I chose  _ The Picture of Dorian Grey _ ,” he offered. “Unless you want to read something else.” 

“No,” Aziraphale shook his head. “I’m quite fond of Oscar Wilde’s work.” 

“Did you know him?” 

“Yes.” Aziraphale shifted to lay down, setting his pillow on Crowley’s lap, his head soon following. He liked to lay on his side with his head on the pillow, curled up, and Crowley buried his hand in his soft curls and began to pet him. This was one of his favorite things, ever since Aziraphale had passed out from pain and Crowley wasn’t sure what to do. It was as comforting to him as it appeared to be to Aziraphale and if he could give the angel nothing else, at least they could have these quiet moments of peace. 

He picked up the book and started from the beginning. It amazed him how quickly Aziraphale’s breathing evened out, his body going lax as his head grew heavier in Crowley’s lap. He thought, briefly, about what it might be like to do this except in Crowley’s much larger bed. Then Aziraphale could curl up or sprawl out, his choice, and Crowley could slide down next to him and curl around him once he was asleep…

Crowley shook his head, realizing quickly he’d lost himself in the book and the warmth of Aziraphale’s body next to his. It had been so long since he’d been close to anyone. This was all going to his head. When he stopped reading he waited, listening to Aziraphale’s breathing, just to ensure he was well and truly asleep. When there was nothing except for the steady rise and fall of Aziraphale’s chest, he set the book aside. 

It would be a shame to wake him by moving, wouldn’t it? Crowley frowned at himself, but he was a  _ demon _ . Doing questionable things was in his blood. This questionable thing just so happened to be something gentle. Being as careful as he could, he shimmied down on the bed until Aziraphale’s head rested on his chest, easing the pillow out from beneath him so as not to put his neck at an awkward angle. Aziraphale huffed in his sleep and shifted until he settled against Crowley’s side and stilled. 

“That’s right angel,” Crowley murmured as he leaned in to kiss the top of his head. “I’ve got you.” He’d be gone by the morning, but at least he could give Aziraphale this for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Tuesday & Friday! 
> 
> You're always welcome to come talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/).


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale takes a meeting with Beelzebub and does some research.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Black Friday everyone. Here's one deal you don't have to wait in line for! As always, your support, comments, and excitement fuel me. I'll try to respond to some of the comments while I've got a little downtime! But know that I read them all as they come in. 
> 
> This chapter introduces an OC that I'm kind of in love with, and I hope you like him too.

The house was empty when Aziraphale woke up, Crowley gone and a note left for him on the kitchen table. He had no tasks, but Crowley left him with permission to wander the halls of Hell. He’d included instructions on getting to a couple specific areas, including the convenience store-type space he had intended to go to during his first round of tasks. The other was just labeled ‘park’. The thought of a park in Hell wasn’t appealing. The sandbox probably had cat excrement in it. 

Instead of leaving right away Aziraphale puttered around through the house, processing the day before. He felt quite foolish if he was honest. Crowley had been trying to do a nice thing for him in exchange for the very nice thing he’d done for him, and he’d gone and ruined it. Why hadn’t he been able to keep it together long enough to feel good for once? 

He knew why: because Crowley wasn’t his Crowley, and that made everything so wildly complicated in his heart. 

At the kitchen table with a mug of tea and a bowl of oatmeal, Aziraphale cracked open his journal and stared at a blank page. He needed to gather himself and figure out what he needed to do. First order was to figure out a way to circumvent the pain of a claim, as he would have to deal with it in a couple more days at most. The mark between his shoulder and neck was healing and he imagined it would lose its potency. 

The second thing he needed was to learn more about the current state of Earth. If he could understand what the end of the world looked like, perhaps he could begin to trace his way back to understanding how to reverse it. He wrote these things down in the book, though coded them on the off chance Crowley decided to snoop. 

The third was to get a face-to-face with Adam, which meant continuing to grow his relationship with Crowley in order to orchestrate a reason for them to go visit. He took a sip of tea as he considered this. With things as they were, Crowley could get called to Earth and would have no reason to bring Aziraphale. Could he ask to go? Would Crowley arrange it? Maybe if he could get Crowley to believe him about needing to set the world back on the correct path. 

For the moment, that all seemed very far away. A fourth item he jotted down involved figuring out the angelic lines of communication. He likely wouldn’t be able to get much information from demons, but his own kin might be more help. They had seen the world as it ended, after all. Perhaps they could provide greater insight. 

He was deep in thought, a bite of oatmeal halfway to his mouth when there was a knock on the door. Aziraphale froze and frowned, waiting. Another knock came a few moments later. He rose slowly, straightened his tunic, and then walked out of the kitchen and over to the front door. As he opened it - just a crack - he peered out to find a rather official looking demon standing there. She wore a sash reminiscent of Beelzebub’s and had a badge in the symbol of a fly pinned to it. 

“Hello,” she greeted, tucking some of her long, dark hair behind her ear. “I’m here to escort you, the Prince has requested a meeting.” 

“Oh.” So soon? Aziraphale had very little to share at this point. “I was in the middle of breakfast...is it possible to wait a tick?” He needed to eat, otherwise the day was going to go downhill quickly. 

The demon hesitated then shrugged. “Sure.” 

“Would you care to come in?” Aziraphale opened the door a bit more and she shook her head, taking a step back. 

“I’m afraid that wouldn’t be proper, I’ll wait out here.” 

“Ah, alright.” Aziraphale frowned, his sense of etiquette slighted. “I could still bring you a cup of tea? What is your name?” 

“Er, Celan, and no thank you. We shouldn’t linger too terribly long.” Celan looked baffled. 

“Right, right, of course. I’ll be out in a tick then. Wait here.” He shut the door and moved back to the kitchen table. He ate up his oatmeal as fast as he could manage, drained most of his tea, and stopped off in his room to tuck his journal in the nightstand. Straightening up, he slid into shoes and met Celan outside the door. 

“Lead the way my dear.” Celan gave him a side-eyed look but did indeed lead the way, Aziraphale trailing just slightly behind her. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to walk the same number of paces behind her as Crowley, or if it was different when it wasn’t a master he followed. She said nothing, so he kept his pace as they wound their way through the halls until they arrived at Beelzebub’s office. 

“I will be here to escort you back,” Celan said as she opened the door and let him in. 

“Thank you again my dear, quite kind of you.” He stepped inside and met the bored gaze of the receptionist. 

“You can go in,” she said, motioning with her head toward the open door. “The Prince is waiting for you.” 

He proceeded into the familiar office, shutting the door behind him. Beelzebub was at their desk, looking over paperwork. They only looked up when Aziraphale came to sit in one of the chairs, watching him for a moment before leaning back. 

“You managed to get Crowley to claim you,” they observed. “How was it?” 

“Terrible,” Aziraphale replied and watched as Beelzebub grimaced. 

“Yeszz. It tends to be, from what I hear. But you and Crowley are alright?” 

That was a good question, Aziraphale thought. He didn’t know. Crowley had stayed with him in bed until he’d fallen asleep but things were still tense. Still uncertain. Crowley was trying, certainly, as was Aziraphale. Neither of them seemed to know what to do. 

“Going well then,” Beelzebub said dryly. “We’ll need him for this to work.” 

“I know that,” Aziraphale snapped and Beelzebub’s brows rose in surprise. He took a settling breath and crossed his arms over his chest, feeling vulnerable. “I  _ know _ .” He tried to make his tone a little more even, letting some of the heat go. “We’re trying. He’s not unkind, he’s just not…” The word escaped him. 

“Yourszz,” Beelzebub supplied. Aziraphale raised his eyes to look into theirs. He found a look of sympathy. 

“I go back to that every evening,” they admitted. “He’s still Gabriel, still an absolute twat, but he’s not  _ my _ Gabriel.” 

Aziraphale heard the weight in those words and stared at Beelzebub. “If I may ask,” he began, “how close were you and he? I don’t think I realized…”

“No, you wouldn’t have. His preference, and mine. Can’t have everyone knowing I enjoyed going around shagging an angel.” They sighed deeply and peered up at the ceiling. “It was a casual thing, then a less casual thing, then all of this happened and now all he doeszz is quote the Bible at me - and incorrectly at that.” 

Aziraphale grimaced this time. “While he inspired quite a few passages I don’t think the poor boy has actually read most of it, to be honest.” 

“It showzz,” Beelzebub replied. “Regardless, I know this is difficult and I’m not going to pretend this isn’t going to be an uphill battle but right now it is up to you and I to solve this. Have you made any progresszz?” 

“No. Most of my time has been spent navigating Crowley and his needs. It has been, as you say, an uphill battle. I think today is the first day he’s allowed me out and about without any real direction. I had hoped to find somewhere I could do research, look through books. Though I’m a bit doubtful there’s any place like that here.” It was Hell after all, they weren’t known for keeping libraries. 

“Well,” Beelzebub frowned. “I might be able to direct you to someone, but I’m not entirely sure you’ll like it.” 

The promise of books would always be enough to get Aziraphale’s attention. He leaned forward. “Say more.” 

“There’s a private library a demon named Lenore keeps. He owes me a favor, which I apparently haven’t cashed in over the last thousand years since he gave it to me. I suppose the other me never had much use for him or his books but if you think there would be some answers in books from Earth, I could use that favor to get you access to his library.” Beelzebub didn’t look happy about it. 

“How extensive is his collection?” Aziraphale thought of the bookshop and tried to ward off the sadness that accompanied it. 

“I don’t know. I just know he has a lot of bookszz.” Beelzebub made a face. “I’ve never been to his house, or into his library.” 

“Is he…” Aziraphale hesitated. “Well. He’s not going to try to harm me, is he?” 

At that, Beelzebub barked out a startling laugh. “No. He’s a useless demon. A knowledge keeper certainly but otherwise harmless. I don’t think he’s tempted a single damn soul in his entire tenure as a demon. He’s a bit peculiar though and despite owing me a favor, he isn’t going to like it.” 

“I’m sure I can manage.” He sounded like Aziraphale’s type of fellow. 

Beelzebub studied him and then nodded. “Yes, I imagine you can. Here,” they pulled open a drawer which Aziraphale found curious as their desk was made of stone. From it they pulled a fly pin, one similar to what Celan wore on her sash. They tossed it to Aziraphale who tried to catch it and watched it fall to the floor. 

Beelzebub snorted as Aziraphale bent down to retrieve it and then brought it up to his face to take a look. “Your symbol?” 

“Yes. It will at least get you a conversation. Tell him I’m cashing in my favor and he’s officially debt free.” Beelzebub shut the drawer with a loud snap. “Also,” they waved their hand and a folded document appeared in front of them. They pushed it across the desk. “This is a map of the halls, it should help you navigate around if you need it. Celan will take you to Lenores but you’ll need to figure out your way from there. I’ve written Crowley’s address, as it were, in the marginszz and circled it on the map.” 

“Right.” He picked up the paper and went to slip it into the breast pocket of his jacket only to remember he wasn’t wearing one. All he had on was a tunic in Crowley’s colors. He frowned at the realization and tucked it in a pants pocket instead. “Is that all?” 

“Yes. I’ll be in touch. Crowley is going to know you were here today, tell him whatever you think would upset him the least.” 

Aziraphale stood and nodded, heading toward the door. 

“Aziraphale,” Beelzebub called out and he turned. “We have to survive this.” 

“I know, my dear,” he replied. “I know.” 

He proceeded out of the office and into the hallway where Celan still stood. She glanced over at him and nodded, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “Quite ready?” 

“Yes, dear, I am,” Aziraphale replied. “However, it would be best if you could direct me to the home of Lenore? I need to pay him a visit.” 

She paled. “I suppose. Are you sure? He’s a bit...prickly.” 

Curious. Aziraphale offered her a reassuring smile. “I’m certain.” 

Without any further objection she headed off and he followed, pulling out his map to glance at it as they began to trace through the halls. If he could start to get his bearings then he could really explore, and always find his way back home. 

“Oh,” a thought occurred to him. “Celan, Cr-er, my  _ master _ told me about a park. Is that right?” 

She snorted. “Sure, but I don’t think you’d like it much. Couple demons came back from lurking with the idea of a park. They liked the swings. It is really just a patch of half-dead grass with some playground equipment on it and a bench. Sometimes demons like to take lunch there.” 

“Any trees?” He wondered if trees could grow in hell. 

“‘Fraid not, just blackberry bushes.” She shrugged. “Worth seeing for the novelty of it, I imagine, but not much else.” 

“Right, right. Well thank you for letting me know.” He took another glance at the map and then tucked it away again as they rounded a corner. There were desperate screams from down an alleyway and he watched as Celan’s shoulders stiffened and she quickened her pace. He followed suit. Perhaps even demons were a bit worried about what could happen to them in Hell.

After what felt like a solid twenty minutes of walking, Celan pulled up short in front of a plain brown door with a  _ Keep Out _ sign tacked onto it. “This would be Lenore’s, and also where I leave you. Do you think you can make it back to your master’s home from here?” 

Aziraphale pulled out the map and looked. Celan pointed to where they were and he made a note, before tracing the path back to Crowley’s. “Yes, I think I’ll manage. Thank you again, dear. Hopefully I’ll see you again.” 

“Sure.” She left him with a lingering, slightly confused look. He turned toward the door and tucked the map away again, straightening his clothes. He pulled Beelzebub’s pin out of his pocket and tacked it onto his shirt before he lifted a hand and knocked loudly. 

There was shuffling from the other side of the door, but it sounded like the footsteps were retreating as opposed to approaching. He frowned. He waited another minute or so before he knocked again. 

Nothing. Aziraphale tilted his head back and looked up, wondering if this was his punishment for all of the times he’d pulled the very same trick at the shop. He sighed loudly and crept closer to the door, pushing his ear up against it. After a few minutes he heard the telltale shuffle of feet and that’s when he knocked again and then shouted. 

  
“I’m here on business from Prince Beelzebub! I hear you owe them a favor.” 

There was silence followed by the sound of a deadbolt being moved out of place. Then another. And a third, before the door swung open. The demon standing before him was a surprising fellow. He was tall, standing easily at six and a half feet. His torso was long, arms and legs willow-y, long grey hair pulled back into a bun at the back of his head wrapped in something that had tawny brown feathers hanging off of it. His face was somewhat weathered, as if he’d chosen not to embrace the eternal youth of immortality and instead preferred to show his age. 

His eyes were perhaps the most fantastic part of him. They were round and large, set against a thin and angular face. There were no whites, only deep gold irises that faded to sunset orange in the middle. Set in them were perfectly round pupils. They were an owl’s eyes, and he realized the feathers in his hair were owl feathers. “Well hello,” Aziraphale greeted with a gentle smile.

Lenore scowled, eyes drifting to the pin near the breast of Aziraphale’s shirt. “You said you’re here on behalf of Prince Beelzebub.” 

“Yes, sir, they sent me to claim a favor.” 

“What’s the favor?” The demon stood defensively in the doorway, blocking Aziraphale’s sight into the dimly lit interior. 

“A look at your library, dear boy. I’m a bit of an enthusiast myself and was delighted to hear someone else liked books, too.” Aziraphale held his hands in front of him politely. 

“Do you need a specific book? I can let you look at a specific book, but if Beelzebub thinks the favor earns unfettered access to my library they need to rethink the value of what they did for me.” His scowl deepened. 

“Er, no, I was hoping to peruse. I’m not entirely sure what I’m looking for…” 

“Can’t do that. Can’t let just anyone in here. This is  _ my _ collection. You’ll have to come back with a more specific request.” He began to shut the door. 

“Do you have Oscar Wilde?” Aziraphale said quickly, not sure why that was the name that came to mind. Lenore scoffed. 

“Of course I’ve got Wilde. Who do you take me for? I’ve got all his writings, first editions, and a personal diary I picked up my last time around Earth.” Lenore left the door open, eyes narrowing. “What do you know about Wilde?” 

“I knew him,” Aziraphale pointed out. “Talked his ear off once about  _ The Picture of Dorian Grey _ . We shared a very nice wine and a long evening.” 

That seemed to catch Lenore’s attention. “You  _ spoke _ to him?” The demon leaned down, large eyes blinking at Aziraphale. Then he recoiled and looked disturbed by his own interest. “Not sure what good that does us now. He’s gone. As is most of the world.” 

At that, Aziraphale deflated. 

“Why do you look like that?” Lenore asked quickly, frowning. 

“I owned a bookshop,” Aziraphale shared with a watery smile. “Quite a lovely thing. I only had it to keep my collection. I rarely sold anything. It is gone now, though, you just reminded me of it. That’s all.” 

“You?” Lenore sounded suspicious. “ _ You _ had a bookshop?” His large eyes moved from Aziraphale’s face to his collar and then back up. “You were on Earth?” 

“The whole time, from the beginning. That’s how I knew Oscar, Chaucher, Sappho…” He had their memories tucked away in the recesses of his mind, safe to dwell on even if it had been another world and another time. “How long have you been collecting?” 

“Since my first assignment to Earth in the 1600s. Haven’t made it up there as much as I’d like but I’ve managed to pull together a lovely collection.” Lenore hesitated and then stepped back from the door. “Come in. What did you say your name was?” 

Relief flooded Aziraphale as he stepped inside and the door shut behind him. “Aziraphale, thank you” he said and then inhaled deeply. The scent of old books was  _ everywhere _ . Leather, vellum, old paper, binding glue. It was all mixed together in a heady incense that permeated the space. 

Tears sprang to his eyes and he quickly wiped them away. 

“None of that, don’t want you getting any saltwater on my collection.” Lenore brushed by him and took a left. Aziraphale followed. The structure of the home was very different from Crowley’s. Whereas Crowley’s resembled something from Earth, this was a true library. Tall ceilings, bookshelves filled to the brim every which way. There was a writing desk and chair, a chaise lounge, but no other furniture he could see. All of the spaces were dedicated to  _ books _ . 

It was wonderful. “Oh dear boy this is...this is  _ amazing _ .” 

Lenore preened at that. “It is, thank you. I’m glad someone finally appreciates it.” 

“Does no one in Hell read?” Aziraphale asked as he started to wander down one of the isles, eyes trailing over the spines of books. 

Lenore scoffed. “Hardly. I think I’ve seen a few of them passing around playboys and laughing at human sexuality but outside of that, most of them are uncreative, uninventive, daft fools. They don’t understand the beauty of human literature.” 

“Do you do any of your own writing?” Aziraphale reached out to gently brush his fingers over a particularly old tome. He glanced over when Lenore was silent. In the dimly lit space, the demon’s eyes seemed luminescent and in any other situation Aziraphale would have felt like prey beneath that gaze. 

Instead, he saw what he thought was a faint flush across Lenore’s cheeks. 

“Well, of course. I dabble,” he shrugged and shook his head. “It isn’t anything grand. Nothing like Homer.” 

“Dear boy is this an original Shakespeare script?” He pulled it gently free of its place on the shelf. The binding was falling apart, clearly put together by someone trying to save the manuscript. He frowned at its condition. “Oh this won’t do, this poor thing is crumbling. Please, dear, do you have anything to repair it with?” 

“Repair?” Lenore asked and looked to be fretting. “I...well. No. I keep them in dim light and I try to keep the temperature and humidity at the right levels to preserve them.” 

“Oh no. If I told you what I needed, could you miracle it for me?” Aziraphale took the script over toward the desk. 

“Yes? I think so?” Lenore followed at his heels. “You can help repair the script?” 

“Of course I can. I imagine Bill would laugh at me for fussing over it so, but this is too much of a treasure to allow to deteriorate. Please, allow me to show you how to fix it?” 

“Bill?” Lenore asked, distracted. “You knew William Shakespeare?” 

“Yes, dear, but let’s focus on saving this very lovely find.” 

Aziraphale listed off the items he would need to begin repairing the script and Lenore, to the best of his ability, miracled them. It would do. He sat down and pulled on his gloves, setting to work as Lenore hovered around him. He was all too aware of the constant, unblinking stare of his golden-orange eyes, but once he got into the rhythm of repair it no longer bothered him. 

When he’d managed to help the document back into a slightly better condition, he left it to rest and turned to Lenore who looked flabbergasted. 

“You must teach me how to maintain all of these books,” he insisted. “I can pay you, to teach me.” 

“I don’t know that slaves are allowed to be paid,” Aziraphale replied in good humor but watched as Lenore’s face crumpled into a scowl. 

“Slavery is nonsense,” he growled. “‘ _ I believe in Liberty for all men: the space to stretch their arms and their souls, the right to breathe and the right to vote, the freedom to choose their friends, enjoy the sunshine, and ride on the railroads, uncursed by color; thinking, dreaming, working as they will in a kingdom of beauty and love _ .’” 

“W.E.B. Du Bois?” Aziraphale asked as a smile broke across his face. 

“If anyone down here read books they’d understand why slavery is a terrible pursuit.” Lenore stepped away from Aziraphale and down one of the aisles of books. He stood from the desk and followed him. “Here, in my home, you are not a slave.” 

Aziraphale swallowed around a pleasant wave of emotion. “Thank you,” he said quietly. 

Lenore looked at him, a strange expression on his owlish face before he looked away and huffed. “Think nothing of it. You may wander my library, if you’d like. Read whatever, stay as long as you’d like. Especially if you’re willing to come back and show me how to restore some of these old books.” 

“Of course,” Aziraphale replied. It was good to be around books like this again. He felt like himself, even if he was still in the bowels of Hell. “Do you have a section on prophecy?” 

“Oh  _ do _ I.” Lenore’s face lit up and led him deeper into the library. 

Aziraphale lost track of time as he pawed through the tomes, impressed with Lenore’s collection. He had nearly every book that came to Aziraphale’s mind. As his fingertips drifted over the spine of another, he paused and looked over to Lenore. Deeper into the library there had been a table with four chairs and Lenore had perched on one, his long body towering over the tabletop. He had a collection of Mother Shipton’s prophecies in his hands and seemed quite engrossed. 

“Lenore, dear?” The demon looked up with his great owlish eyes and cocked his head to the side. 

“Yes, Aziraphale?” 

“Are you able to...I don’t know. Look into humans on Earth?” 

Lenore seemed to consider this. “I suppose?” 

“Let me put it differently, have you heard about the  _ Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch _ ?” 

Lenore straightened up in his seat and shut his book. “Of course. I’ve not...I could never find a copy. They were all burned except for the author copy and I was never the sort willing to track down a human to try and steal something. Why?” His eyes narrowed.

“Well, I suppose I’m familiar with the last one to inherit the book, assuming not too much has changed. Is there a way for you to see if she’s on Earth still?” If Aziraphale could find Anathema, perhaps the bright young thing might have some ideas of her own. She had helped avert the apocalypse in another life, after all, and if Agnes had a prophecy about this particular scenario…

“I could try. There’s a way to look up souls, but it is easier if they’re connected to the occult.” 

Bingo. “Well lucky for us, I think she’s a witch.” 

Lenore’s face lit up in a wildly endearing way. “What’s the name, then?” 

“Anathema Device,” Aziraphale said, a little piece of him missing her along with everything else. 

A piece of paper was miracled onto the table and Lenore wrote down the name. “I’ll look into it.” 

“I appreciate that greatly, dear boy.” Aziraphale turned back to his perusing, choosing a book on the supposed end of the world. He sat down at the same table as Lenore and began reading. 

Sometime later there was a series of loud knocks on the door. Lenore glared in its general direction. “Pests,” he grumbled. 

“I understand. I used to hide away from customers at my bookshop. Most of them just didn’t understand how precious the books were…” 

“They never do,” Lenore lamented as more knocks came. “Beelzebub wasn’t sending more folks for favors, were they?” 

“No, not that I’m aware of.” 

Lenore gave a heavy sigh. “Suppose I  _ ought _ to go answer it anyway.” He looked at Aziraphale as if waiting for some sort of support to do the opposite. 

“Might need to. Perhaps it is important.” 

“Never is.” Lenore stood anyway and disappeared. Aziraphale returned to his book until a familiar voice caught his ear. 

“Sorry, I’m looking for Aziraphale. I believe he’s here?” 

“And who’re you?” Lenore asked defensively. 

“I’m, er, uh, his master.” 

“Those who deny freedom to others deserve it not for themselves,” Lenore growled. 

“Did you just quote  _ Lincoln _ at me?” Crowley asked, sounding half-amused and half-startled. “Aziraphale?” He heard Crowley shout. 

Aziraphale sighed and heard Lenore protest. “You cannot bid him to come like a dog,” the demon said. “He is a living being.” 

“I  _ know _ that,” Crowley replied, exasperated. “He just so happens to be a living being I  _ care _ about and I’d like him to come home.” 

Aziraphale crept closer to the door but didn’t go to Crowley, not quite yet. He wondered for a moment what it would be like to let Lenore defend him, to keep him from Crowley, to let him wander the library for days on end. Would a higher authority eventually come and compel Lenore to give him up? Would they hurt the books? He couldn’t imagine Lenore’s home being invaded like that. 

“Home, to what? To cook you dinner and clean and service you,” Lenore spat, and Aziraphale was surprised at how heated he was getting. “I know what your types do to angels like him. He’s  _ kind _ , and  _ smart _ , and he’s recently shown me how to restore books and I will not see him come to harm.” 

“I - what? Did he say I harmed him?” Crowley sounded a bit hurt now. 

“No,” Lenore answered. “But I see the mark on him as clear as anyone else. I know how they get  _ that _ .” 

“Lenore, it is quite alright dear boy.” Aziraphale finally stepped out from around the corner and walked to Lenore’s side, resting a hand on his forearm. 

“It isn’t right,” Lenore muttered under his breath, glancing at Aziraphale. 

“I know,” Aziraphale murmured. “But I don’t mind going home with Crowley, and I can be back tomorrow I think. I’d suggest leaving the script as it is for now and I’ll check to make sure it is recovering as it should when I return. How’s that?” 

Lenore appeared to consider it, glancing at Aziraphale and then staring at Crowley. “Fine. But if he hurts you, you are welcome here.” 

“I appreciate that dearly.” He squeezed Lenore’s arm and stepped past him to Crowley who looked Aziraphale over. 

“Alright, angel?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale smiled gently. 

“Quite.” He turned back to Lenore. “Have a good evening dear, I will see you tomorrow.” 

“I will make sure the script is safe,” Lenore replied. “Goodnight, Aziraphale.” He glanced suspiciously over at Crowley once more before he shut the door and the sound of the three deadbolts sliding into place filled the hallway. 

“You’ve had a day of it then,” Crowley pointed out as they started walking. Aziraphale fell into step behind him. 

“I did. Quite a productive one I think, though I’m afraid I got a little lost in all the books. I’m sorry if I worried you.” He watched as Crowley shrugged, but he noticed a little tension ease out of his posture. 

“Wasn’t sure where you’d gotten off to is all,” Crowley answered tightly. 

“How did you find me?” 

Crowley turned and tapped his own neck. “The collar.” Then he grimaced. “I’m sorry, I know that’s rather invasive but if you were to ever go missing I’d be able to find you.” 

“It is fine. I’d rather you be able to find me down here than not.” At least until he needed to not be found, then he would have to figure out a way to ditch the collar. Either way, it was good information to have. Aziraphale’s stomach rumbled as he walked. 

“Did you eat lunch?” Crowley asked.

“No,” Aziraphale admitted. “Again, afraid I lost track of time…” 

Crowley glanced over his shoulder and shot him a disapproving look. “We’ll have to have a good dinner, then.” He paused and looked forward again. “I found some cookbooks.” 

“Did you?” Aziraphale brightened. Any book was a good book. 

“Though I imagine you might have found a better variety at Lenore’s.” Crowley sounded a little grumpy about it. 

“Crowley…” Aziraphale closed the distance and touched his elbow. It caught a couple of looks in the hallway but Aziraphale ignored them as Crowley stopped walking and turned to him. “I’m delighted you found cookbooks for me. Really. I didn’t see any in Lenore’s library.” 

Crowley studied him before he looked away and started walking again. “S’fine, angel.” 

They passed the rest of the time walking in silence. Aziraphale stared at Crowley’s back the entire way until they arrived at the house and entered. They both made their way to the kitchen, Crowley over to the table where he lifted a few books and turned to offer them to Aziraphale.

“Oh,” Aziraphale glanced at the covers and found a couple magazines tucked between them too. “Lovely. I can look over these in more detail tonight, perhaps. Flag some potential recipes.” He looked up at Crowley and smiled. “Thank you, sir.” 

Crowley wasn’t looking at him and instead reached into a pocket on the inside of his jacket and produced a smaller book. “Found this, too,” he muttered. “Probably not better than what Lenore had but I saw it and thought of you.” 

Warmth blossomed in Aziraphale’s chest as he accepted the small book. It was a collection of Robert Frost’s poems, bound in leather with a gorgeous gold leaf tree on the cover. He ran his fingertips over the tree and then looked up at Crowley who had clearly been staring and then glanced away once caught. 

“Thank you,” he whispered as he held the book to his chest for a moment, hugging it, resisting the urge to hug Crowley. Could he? Could he reach out and pull him into a hug? “Might I, well…” He leaned past Crowley and set the book on the table before he stepped closer to him. 

“Ugh, angel, you’re making it awkward…” But Crowley opened his arms and pulled Aziraphale in, squeezing him. Aziraphale pressed his face into Crowley’s chest and breathed him in, relaxing. 

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said again, lingering. Crowley didn’t seem to mind, one of his hands rubbing up and down Aziraphale’s back. 

“I’m glad you like it.” 

Aziraphale finally stepped back and picked up one of the cookbooks. “Let’s make something tonight from this one.” 

“Sure.” Crowley smiled. “Lead the way.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Tuesday & Friday!
> 
> Come hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/).


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has a new friend and takes advantage of it, before he's subjected to the next round of claiming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning! I hope everyone who celebrated Thanksgiving had a good and restful week/weekend. Happy Tuesday. With this new chapter comes a couple new **content warnings:** there's light bondage, the use of handcuffs, and some more dubcon (though nothing quite like the initial claiming). Other than that, y'all also get to see a little more of Lenore. I'm so glad y'all love him as much as I do. We all needed a crunchy owl demon librarian. 
> 
> As for the story as a whole, I just wrapped chapter 22 last night. This thing has taken off more than I expected it to, and there's a lot more to come! Thanks as always for all of your comments and theories. I love reading them.

Aziraphale returned to Lenore’s the next day, smiling as he was greeted by large eyes and a shy smile. He entered the library and relaxed, the world of Hell fading away as he stepped along the isles of books. 

“I left the script on the desk,” Lenore said, eagerly shepherding Aziraphale over to it. Aziraphale lifted it, glad to see the binding had taken and the pages didn’t feel quite so delicate after the treatment he’d given them. 

“Lovely,” Aziraphale said, closing it and handing it to Lenore. “See for yourself.” 

Lenore stared at it as if Aziraphale were offering him something precious and, Aziraphale thought, in some ways he was. Then the demon took it gingerly and looked startled to find it didn’t immediately crumble in his hands. He looked at Aziraphale, large eyes unnerving even in their gentleness, and the shy smile from earlier returned. 

“Thank you.” He pet the cover and then turned and disappeared into the isles, likely to put it away. Aziraphale occupied himself with scanning titles and touching spines. The familiar act brought him a large measure of peace. 

“Your master,” Lenore said as he returned to Aziraphale and joined him in his stroll through the stacks. “He seemed strange.” 

“Hm?” Aziraphale glanced at Lenore and then back at the books. “How so?” 

“He asked. Normally the others just order me around. Lenore, fetch me this book. Lenore, write me a report about this topic,” Lenore sighed. “I’ve not had anyone come looking for a visitor before of course, you’re the first angel I’ve allowed into the library, but he  _ asked _ after you.” 

“Yes, he tends to do that.” Aziraphale considered this. Even in this world, Crowley was so different from his kin. 

“Is he kind to you?” Lenore asked, hovering close at Aziraphale’s back, looming over him. 

“More than he needs to be, at times,” Aziraphale replied, but Lenore huffed at that. 

“But this,” and Lenore, without any foibles about personal space, reached out and touched Aziraphale’s healing claim mark. “This is not attained by kindness.” 

“No,” Aziraphale admitted. “It isn’t. Do you know much about it?” He stopped in his pursuit and turned to look at Lenore, tilting his head back to meet his gaze. 

“Not as it is,” Lenore replied as his brows furrowed and he looked nervous. He glanced around the dim library as if anyone else were there and then reached up with a large hand to pull at the collar of his shirt. There was a scar on his shoulder creeping up to his neck that was hidden by the shirt, which was why Aziraphale had not seen it sooner. While Aziraphale’s wound was all flesh, Lenore’s looked to be gilded in gold like some of the markings angels had. Like Uriel’s freckles. 

It only occurred to him after he’d considered the strange beauty of it that a  _ demon _ was sporting a claim mark. “Wait, were you a slave?” 

Lenore shook his head and looked forlorn as he pulled his shirt back into place. “I was bonded, in Heaven. I had a mate.” 

“Oh.” The single syllable left Aziraphale as a surprised puff of air as he realized the implications of that.  _ Had _ a mate stuck out and Aziraphale wondered if they’d been separated by the Fall, or something worse. 

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to say. He fretted, worried he’d pushed over a line but Lenore simply frowned at the floor. His eyes were sad. 

“How did...that is to say, you are under no obligation to share my dear boy but I feel compelled to ask. What happened to your mate?” 

Lenore glanced at Aziraphale. “She was killed, in the First War. Didn’t see much point in Heaven after she was gone. So I Fell.” 

“I’m sorry.” Aziraphale’s heart twisted in sympathy. 

“It was a long time ago. She would have liked books, I think. Why did you ask about claiming?”

“I spoke with someone else about it, who reminded me of bonding. I was just curious about how this new process came into light, why it isn’t permanent…” he hesitated. “If there’s a way to make it less terrible.” 

A dark look came over Lenore’s face. “There might be, if demons were willing to  _ try _ .” 

“I think Crowley might,” Aziraphale pointed out and Lenore’s face dissolved into a confused look. 

“But he’s already hurt you.” 

“Not willingly. I pushed him into it. He keeps promising to find another way but I don’t think whatever research he’s done has been fruitful. I had hoped, even more so now, that you might have some thoughts on it. Especially considering you’ve experienced  _ bonding _ before, and this seems like some sort of offshoot of that.” Aziraphale knew it was a longshot, but he’d do anything to save he and Crowley the heartache of another round of claiming. 

“I wish I could be of more help,” Lenore said softly. “I’m afraid I have no experience with this. All I can tell you was that I loved my mate very much, and when she took me and did this it was out of that place. Not ownership, not dominion, but love.” 

He looked impossibly sad and Aziraphale stepped forward and took one of his hands between both of his affectionately. “Thank you. We don’t have to speak about it anymore. Would you like me to show you more about book binding?” 

Lenore’s face lit up. “Yes, please.” 

While Aziraphale left Lenore to practice on a less valuable tome he wandered the library. He found a couple of books that were likely mostly based in human imagination, but had some sections on relationships among angels. Perhaps a human or two had figured it out somehow. Perhaps it was all nonsense. Either way, it would make for interesting reading. 

“Lenore my boy,” he waited until Lenore looked up from the book he was binding. “Are there any books on later history? Close to the apocalypse, or any publications afterward? Newspapers or the like?” 

“Mm. I’ve not been up top since just before the apocalypse I’m afraid. I did have an acquaintance pick up a few newspapers recently that should be somewhere in that direction,” He waved behind him. “Am I doing this correctly?” 

Aziraphale checked his work and praised him before he left the books he’d found on the table and went in search of the newspapers. There were only two issues, set it seemed right after the apocalypse, and he brought them back to the table. 

“Can I take all of these things with me, Lenore?” 

Lenore considered them. From Aziraphale’s guess, nothing he had chosen was of particular value. Lenore turned his wide gaze on Aziraphale and nodded. “Alright, as long as you promise to return them.” 

“Of course, I would never abscond with such things.” Aziraphale smiled. “Do you mind if I stay and start my reading?” 

“Not at all. I am going to continue my book binding.” He looked pleased and it made Aziraphale happy. It was the first time since being in Hell he felt he had a  _ friend _ . Other than Crowley of course, but that relationship was complicated.

They worked in relative quiet, Lenore asking questions every now and again about the process of restoring books. Aziraphale happily answered. The afternoon wore on and this time Aziraphale paid attention to the time, not wanting Crowley to return home and worry about him again. 

“Lenore my dear I think I ought to head out.” He began to gather up the books. Lenore glanced up. 

“If you must,” he said. “Can I expect to see you tomorrow?” 

“Not sure, honestly. I’ve been given quite a bit of freedom these last couple days and my visits will depend on what’s needed of me.” However much he enjoyed spending time with Lenore, he knew all too well that he had a mission, and he could not hide away forever in the library. That didn’t mean it wasn’t tempting, of course. He just had to prioritize. “But I promise I’ll keep visiting.” 

“Good. I will practice restoring books and the next time you come, you can teach me more. I will also look into that Anathema girl for you.” Lenore stood and began to walk Aziraphale out. “You will be safe on your walk home?” 

“Of course.” Aziraphale offered him a gentle smile. “I’ll see you soon, to return the books.” 

“Yes. Goodbye, Aziraphale.” 

“Goodbye, Lenore.” He didn’t linger and headed out into the halls, the books and papers hugged to his chest. By that point he’d pretty well memorized the way back home and started winding through the halls. 

Of course it wouldn’t be easy. Nothing in Hell was. He walked down one of the hallways and Ligur appeared at the end of it, grinning. 

“Oi, hello there you little piece of shit.” Ligur strolled toward him and Aziraphale heard footsteps behind and tried to keep his breathing even. “Where’s yer master, hm?” 

“Busy,” Aziraphale bit out. He didn’t look behind him, even as he heard the footsteps stop. Ligur approached but grimaced, his face twisting in displeasure as he stopped about five feet short of Aziraphale. His eyes narrowed. 

“Better watch yerself,” Ligur growled. “We’re waitin’ for the day you fuck up.” 

“Can I ask why it is you’re so obsessed with me?” He asked, realizing Ligur wouldn’t approach him. Aziraphale took a cautious step forward and Ligur lifted his upper lip in a snarl as he took a step back. Something about the claim perhaps, Aziraphale thought. Interesting. 

“Ain’t nothin’ about you, not really. We just think Crawly is a right twat and he don’t deserve you.” Ligur took another step back as Aziraphale moved forward. He heard a frustrated huff from behind him and assumed it was Hastur. 

“And you do?” Aziraphale asked primly, his fear dissolving. It was lovely to be in a place of power for once. 

“We know how ta treat a slave,” Ligur replied. 

“Wonderful. Well, I’ll be sure to let you both know the moment I’m free. For the time being I really ought to get going.” He picked up the pace, walking faster toward Ligur who ducked out of the way and snarled in frustration. Aziraphale ignored them as they called after him, focused on one thing and one thing only: getting home. 

Once he was inside of Crowley’s place he shut the door and leaned back against it, letting out the breath he didn’t think he was holding. 

“Angel?” Crowley came around the corner and frowned. “Alright?” 

“Had a run in with Ligur and Hastur,” he admitted, taking a few steadying breaths. Crowley closed the distance between them and reached out to touch the mark poking out from beneath the loose collar of his shirt. He brushed his fingers over it and Aziraphale shivered, glancing away shyly. “It protected me,” Aziraphale murmured. “Ligur wouldn’t get within five feet of me.” 

“S’cause of my scent,” Crowley said as he looked over Aziraphale, as if he were seeking any sign of harm. 

“Why didn’t your scent prevent me from being hit the other day?” Aziraphale asked, letting Crowley inspect him. 

Crowley sighed and looked into Aziraphale’s eyes. “He’s different. He works with slaves all the time, even ones claimed by masters. If he were put off by a scent he wouldn’t be able to do his job, so he’s got a workaround. I protect you from  _ most _ demons, and the rest I can intervene physically when need-be.” 

“It is all very strange you know,” Aziraphale pointed out. Crowley reached up and gently cupped his cheek and Aziraphale leaned into it, closing his eyes. 

“I know, angel. I know. You sure you’re alright?” 

“Yes, yes. They just used words this time and I’ve had my fair share of verbal filth tossed at me over the years. They don’t scare me all that much, not when they won’t come near me.” Aziraphale finally leaned out of Crowley’s hand and looked up at him. “I wasn’t expecting you home this early, but I do have a recipe picked out if you’d like to help me make it tonight.” He’d noticed the previous night that Crowley seemed to  _ enjoy _ cooking, and there was no reason to turn down the extra help if he had a willing partner. 

“Sounds good.” Crowley smiled, squeezed Aziraphale’s shoulder and then turned to walk to the kitchen. “I saw you’ve got books?” He called back as Aziraphale followed. 

“Yes, I ought to go set them down in my room. Lenore has lent them to me.” He walked to his bedroom and set them on top of the dressed before he walked back out to the kitchen where Crowley was looking over the recipe Aziraphale had left open. 

“He treating you well?” Crowley asked as he began to take out the ingredients. Aziraphale focused on tracking down a bottle of wine and pouring two glasses. 

“Of course. He’s a delightful fellow.” 

“You’re probably the first person in Hell to say that,” Crowley said with a huff. “Most people say he’s a few crayons short of a set if you know what I mean.” 

Aziraphale frowned. “He’s had a hard life, I can’t blame him for wanting to be alone with his books.” He thought about Lenore’s lost mate and his frown deepened. He took a sip of wine and set the other on the counter near where Crowley had put what they’ll need for dinner. 

“Sorry, angel. You’re right.” Crowley glanced over at him before he picked up his wine and took a sip. Then he motioned to the food on the counter. “Shall we?” 

“Certainly.” Aziraphale finally smiled, setting his wine aside as he pulled out the recipe and they began to cook. 

Eventually they both sat down at the table with healthy helpings of chicken biryani. Aziraphale recalled having it long ago and was pleased that their attempt was close enough to the real thing. Crowley, as always, picked at his food. Though tonight it seemed it was more out of being pensive than his usual pickiness when eating. 

“Everything alright, sir?” Aziraphale asked, tacking on the ‘sir’ half heartedly. He’d been using it less and less in the house as he’d grown comfortable around Crowley. It wasn’t like Crowley had any intention to punish him for it. 

“I’ve been thinking about claiming, Aziraphale,” Crowley replied and met his gaze. He looked a bit pained. “I don’t want to hurt you again but we’ll need to do it soon. I’ve been thinking about ways to make it less terrible.” 

“Oh?” Aziraphale tried not to let the memories of their first time together chase away his own appetite. He’d once again neglected to eat lunch and was hungry. But the memories of Crowley’s hot breath against his neck and the pain radiating out from his lower extremities threatened to grab him and drag him under. 

“Hey,” Crowley reached out and touched his hand. It was enough to let him shake off the fear for a moment as he glanced up. “Breathe.” He offered Aziraphale a lopsided smile. 

Aziraphale took his advice and breathed in and out before he nodded and took another bite of his food. “So, what have you come up with?” 

“I thought you could tie me up,” Crowley replied. Aziraphale nearly choked on his food. Crowley immediately looked alarmed but Aziraphale waved him off when he started to rise, taking a healthy sip of his wine. 

“Sorry, those were not the words I expected to come out of your mouth.” He cleared his throat and drank more wine, staring at Crowley. 

“Yeah, well,” Crowley took his hand back and slouched back in his chair. “It is the best thing I’ve come up with.” 

“I understand on the surface how it is a solution, but I’m afraid when you’re in that state you’re far more powerful than I am. You could miracle yourself out of the bindings and we would be back where we were.” Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure how Crowley thought it was supposed to work. He took another bite of dinner. 

“Yes, but if I  _ wanted _ to stay tied up for as long as possible, I feel like it would at least give you time to…” He trailed off, shrugged and looked at his hands. “I don’t know, get something out of it that isn’t me hurting you. Maybe actually prepare yourself this time.” 

The look on Crowley’s face was one of guilt and shame. It was Aziraphale’s turn to reach across the table and grab one of Crowley’s hands. “We can try it,” he said. “We’ll need something strong to bind you.” 

“Handcuffs,” Crowley replied. “I already found a pair of sturdy ones. They should at least be enough to give you some time to...you know. And then when I break out of them and claim you it hopefully won’t be as bad as it was last time.” 

“When do we need to do it?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Tomorrow,” Crowley answered, frowning. “I can already tell my scent is fading, and the mark will scar but it is almost healed.” 

“Why not tonight, then?” Aziraphale didn’t see much of a point in dragging out. He’d rather get it done and over with, than spend a day agonizing about it. Rip the bandaid off, so to speak. 

Crowley frowned and then shrugged. “Up to you.” Then he seemed to reconsider before sighing deeply and taking a drink of wine. “I hate this, Aziraphale. I hope you know that.” 

_ Of course you do _ , Aziraphale thought. Being compelled to do this sort of thing with someone like Aziraphale was probably unpleasant. Crowley was driven by instinct, Aziraphale by a need to be protected. He thought about Lenore and the way he talked about his mate and the love involved in bonding and his heart sank. 

“How about another glass of wine?” Crowley asked, holding up the bottle. “Then we’ll...figure it out.” 

“Right. Yes.” Anything to numb him to what was going to happen. They drank the wine in an awkward silence and afterward Aziraphale cleaned up after dinner. Crowley disappeared somewhere down the hall and that was all well and good, because Aziraphale needed time to collect his thoughts. 

Once he had no further excuse to linger, he made his way down the hallway and sought Crowley out. He found the demon sitting on the edge of the bed, shirt off, lean frame on display. Aziraphale’s eyes lingered on it, trailing over his shoulders, collarbones, down to his taut belly. Crowley looked up, yellow eyes bright in the dim light of the room. 

“I’ve set up the cuffs,” he said, motioning toward the head of the bed. Where there had once been an ornate headboard there was now one made of solid iron bars. The chain of the cuffs was woven between the bars, the cuffs resting just above a pillow. Aziraphale frowned. 

“Those are going to hurt you,” he said, his stomach twisting. 

“That’s part of it, yeah,” Crowley answered, shrugging. “It’ll help ground me, I think. I hope.” He offered up a faltering smile and then averted his gaze to the floor. Aziraphale yearned to go to him, to run his fingers through Crowley’s hair and soothe him. If he could he would kiss him softly, ease him back on the bed, and they’d make love instead of whatever terrible bastardization of love claiming was. 

This wasn’t his Crowley though, who would accept soft kisses and softer touches. This was a Crowley who had lived 6000 years without him. A near stranger. He swallowed around the lump in his throat and remained where he was. 

“We can do it tomorrow,” Crowley offered weakly. 

“No,” Aziraphale shook his head. “Tonight.” 

“Right.” Crowley rubbed his hands across his thighs and finally looked up at Aziraphale again. “Should I get in the cuffs now, you think?” 

“I don’t honestly know.” Aziraphale finally gave into his impulse and crossed over to the bed, standing in front of Crowley. Crowley’s hands found his hips and then slid up under his shirt in a gentle touch that startled Aziraphale. 

“Sorry,” Crowley began to pull his hands away but Aziraphale captured his wrists and held them, shaking his head. 

“It is alright,” he murmured, shivering as Crowley looked up at him and continued gently touching. He rucked up Aziraphale’s shirt and leaned forward to press soft kisses to his belly. He tensed at first, then relaxed into the sensation and hesitantly reached up to card his fingers through Crowley’s hair. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Crowley mumbled against his skin, before he tilted his forehead forward and rested it against Aziraphale’s abdomen. 

“I know. I  _ know _ .” Aziraphale’s heart ached as he rubbed his fingers over the short hairs on the nape of Crowley’s neck, wishing he could chase away the tension. “I don’t enjoy being hurt but I’d rather do this, with you, knowing afterward I’ll be safe than being subjected to the world out there.” Crowley knew this, they’d had this same conversation before. There was no good solution. 

Crowley shifted back on the bed and pulled Aziraphale with him, lying back so that Aziraphale was straddling his hips. He peered up at him with a sad smile, his hands running down the fronts of Aziraphale’s clothed thighs. “Lead, angel. I’ll let you do it for as long as I can manage.” 

Oh, Aziraphale wanted to kiss him so badly in that moment. He was sprawled out, shirtless, and offering himself so plainly even though he really held all the power. Aziraphale leaned over him and brushed his nose against Crowley’s cheek. 

“May I be tender?” Aziraphale asked softly. 

Crowley swallowed hard and nodded. “If you’d like.” 

Aziraphale sat back and lifted Crowley’s hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the palm of it. If he couldn’t press their lips together, if that was altogether too intimate, then this would have to be the next best thing. He kissed the inside of Crowley’s wrist, then the middle of his forearm, and leaned in to kiss the inside of his elbow. 

As his mouth touched Crowley’s bicep he gently lifted the arm up and over Crowley’s head, reaching over to fasten one of the cuffs around his wrist. “Alright?” He asked as he laid Crowley’s hand down, fingers following the line of his arm thoughtfully. 

“Yesss,” Crowley breathed, and when Aziraphale looked at him his pupils were wide and his eyes hazy.

“Good.” Aziraphale paid the same gentle attention to Crowley’s other arm, pushing it above his head and binding it, too. Crowley’s breath hitched and Aziraphale felt him squirm before he appeared to settle, his breathing a bit uneven. “I’ll need you to stay with me a bit longer, my dear boy.” He cupped Crowley’s cheek and leaned down to kiss his nose. He felt as much as heard Crowley take a shaking breath. 

“It would be helpful,” Aziraphale continued, “if you could miracle some lubricant for me?” 

“Oh.” Crowley’s fingers wiggled and a bottle appeared on the bed. 

“Thank you.” Aziraphale sat back on his haunches and removed his tunic, tossing it over to the floor. Crowley’s eyes roamed over his newly bared skin. The self consciousness was back and Aziraphale bit his lower lip and shifted down Crowley’s body, focusing on the button of his trousers. 

“You’re gorgeoussss, angel,” Crowley hissed, tugging against the cuffs. The chain clinked against the bars at the head of the bed. “My beautiful angel.” 

Aziraphale’s face went hot at the compliments. He ducked his head and unzipped Crowley’s trousers, pulling them and his underwear all the way down his long legs before he tossed them aside. Crowley was half hard at that point, and Aziraphale wrapped his fingers around him and gave him a couple steady strokes, enjoying the way he twitched in his grasp. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley groaned as he squirmed under the touch, beautiful eyes sliding shut. “You’ll be good for me, won’t you?” He rasped out and Aziraphale realized quickly that they were playing a dangerous game. Crowley’s voice was strained and when he looked up his eyes were open again, hazy and on the edge of wild. 

Aziraphale released him and squirmed out of his trousers and pants, naked and trying not to tremble as he realized moments of tenderness were quickly slipping away. “Yes,  _ master _ ,” he murmured and enjoyed Crowley’s sharp intake of breath. “I’ll be good.” 

Crowley hummed and Aziraphale shifted to lean down over his hips, dragging his tongue over the length of Crowley’s cock. Crowley moaned and arched into it, tugging harder against the cuffs as Aziraphale took the head into his mouth and lapped at it. As he showered Crowley’s cock with attention he fumbled with the bottle of lubricant and managed to get some on his fingers. 

With his head bobbing up and down, he reached back behind his balls and began to rub himself with lubed fingers. He pressed one in, whining around the cock in his mouth, and he heard Crowley growl in a way that was almost a purr. 

“That’s right angel,” Crowley all but hissed out. “Open yourself up for me. I’m going to take you, claim you, make you mine again and again. F-fuck.” Crowley pushed his hips up and nearly choked Aziraphale but he suppressed his gag reflex and took it. He slid the single finger in and out, shuddering, easily adding a second as he allowed Crowley’s cock to slide from his mouth. 

“Good angel, beautiful,” Crowley pulled against his bindings, Aziraphale could hear the metal clanking. His time would run out soon, he knew. He winced as he slid his fingers in a bit too roughly, leaning down to press his forehead to Crowley’s hip as he fixed the angle and felt sharp relief. “You’re being such a good boy.” 

Aziraphale flushed with that, his cock stirring at the praise. He bit down gently on the skin of Crowley’s hip and heard him growl again. Aziraphale slid his fingers out and coated them with more lube before endeavoring a third, working them in and out of himself, stretching, trying to relax against the intrusion. 

“Angel,” Crowley said sharply, his voice a plea. “I c-can’t, I  _ need _ ,” he snarled and pulled hard against the cuffs. Aziraphale removed his fingers and shimmied up to straddle Crowley’s hips again, warming lube in his hand before coating Crowley with it. He watched Crowley’s face, golden eyes peering right back at him hazy with lust and want. Positioning himself over Crowley he eased down onto the head of his cock, whining quietly as it breached him and he slowly worked down. 

He didn’t seat himself entirely, pulling back up and sliding down again, keeping up with a series of shallow thrusts as his hands found Crowley’s chest and he splayed them there for balance. 

“Crowley,” he whimpered as he pushed down further, working his hips back and forth until he was seated against Crowley’s hips. He ground himself down, then pulled back off and slammed down again. 

“Angel,” Crowley gasped out, and then his hands were on Aziraphale’s wrists, sliding up along his forearms. He’d miracled himself free and he leaned up to wrap his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, flipping them. “ _ Mine _ ,” Crowley growled as he pressed Aziraphale into the mattress and began to fuck him in earnest. Aziraphale cried out in surprise, but thankfully less pain than before. Crowley was hardly gentle, but he’d done enough to take him even at his roughest. 

The prick of teeth drew him out of his thoughts as Crowley bit at his throat and then sucked at the very same spot. At this rate he would have marks overlapping other marks. Aziraphale groaned and tilted his head back, which seemed to please Crowley as he pressed a kiss to the underside of Aziraphale’s chin before biting at his Adam’s apple. 

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s shoulders and held on as Crowley’s hands wandered, sliding down his sides and reaching around under him to hitch his hips up for a better angle. He knocked the wind out of Aziraphale with a particularly hard thrust, Crowley’s sharp nails running along the underside of his thigh as his leg was held up. 

“Mine, angel, you’re mine and no one else’s,” Crowley growled into his skin as he nuzzled his way to Aziraphale’s ear. He bit at his earlobe, then worked the delicious spot right below his ear that made him tingle pleasantly. In the midst of the rough thrusts and claiming growls, Aziraphale was able to find the pinpoints of pleasure. Crowley’s thumb brushing over his nipple, running along his collarbone, Crowley’s mouth sucking but not biting on his pulse, his fingers massaging the lines of scratches after making them. 

It wasn’t enough to get him off, or anywhere close to hard, but it was  _ something _ he supposed as he closed his eyes and tried to imagine gentler hands and warmer kisses. He noticed that Crowley’s thrusts were becoming more frantic, his nails biting into the skin of Aziraphale’s thighs and hips as he panted into his ear. 

“Yes,  _ yes _ ,” Crowley growled as his hellfire mouth trailed down Aziraphale’s neck, biting, sucking, and then finally sinking his teeth into the meat of Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale dug his fingers into Crowley’s back, clinging to him, crying out as Crowley’s fangs sank in and held Aziraphale’s flesh between them as Crowley finished. 

Crowley gingerly released the bite hold he had on Aziraphale and lapped at it apologetically, still buried in him. Aziraphale whimpered, each touch of Crowley’s tongue stinging and burning. He ran his hand up to the nape of Crowley’s neck and distracted himself by touching the hairs there, scratching gently as Crowley hummed. Then he turned his head and pressed his forehead to Crowley’s temple, tears beginning to fall from his eyes as his body shuddered. 

“Shh, angel,” Crowley murmured, his voice softer now as he turned his head to kiss Aziraphale’s nose, then his cheek, licking away some of the tears. “I’ve got you. You’re beautiful, you’re safe.” Aziraphale knew it wasn’t true. He was anything but safe, but his heart stopped when Crowley’s lips brushed hesitantly over his own. His fingers curled into Crowley’s hair reflexively. 

“Okay?” Crowley asked, his mouth so close. Aziraphale could feel his breath. A wretched whining sound came from the back of Aziraphale’s throat and Crowley leaned in again, pressing their lips together firmly, a hand coming up to cup Aziraphale’s face. Crowley took Aziraphale’s lower lip gently between his teeth and nibbled, tugging before he released it and kissed him again. 

Aziraphale’s mouth opened instinctively, Crowley’s following suit as their tongues touched and a wrecked sound came crawling out of Aziraphale’s chest. Crowley pressed close, his belly catching Aziraphale’s hardening cock between them, drawing a surprised gasp and a jerk of his hips. His chest blossomed with warmth, with  _ want _ , as Crowley kissed him deeply. 

“I want to see you pleased, angel,” Crowley murmured against his lips, then pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I want to feel you come around me.” 

Aziraphale tilted his head to brush their noses together, nuzzling and whimpering as Crowley shifted his hips forward. He had never pulled out of Aziraphale and his cock, still miraculously hard, pressed deeper into him. 

“ _ Oh _ ,” the sound left Aziraphale’s lips as pleasure and pressure crept up his spine. Crowley guided his hips up, encouraged his legs up and around his own slim hips as he adjusted his position and thrust again. Aziraphale scrambled for something to hold onto as Crowley’s mouth descended on his jaw. One hand made itself as home raking through Crowley’s fire red hair while the other grabbed his bicep. 

“That’s right,” Crowley hummed. “That’s right angel. Make noises for me. Be good and let me hear you.” 

Aziraphale allowed his head to fall back onto the pillow as Crowley nudged up under his chin and began kissing again, his thrusts picking up. Each one offered the perfect mix of friction and slide, made all the better by Crowley’s release slicking the way. He shuddered, every muscle twitching as his fingertips dug into Crowley’s arm. Sounds fell from his mouth without filter, soft begging and pleas for more as Crowley steadily fucked him. 

“I need you to move your hand for me angel,” Crowley insisted as he tried to move the arm Aziraphale was holding onto for dear life. Aziraphale released his grip and Crowley grabbed his wrist, pressing it into the blankets. “Grab onto the sheets,” he instructed, barely piercing through the haze of pleasure and want clouding Aziraphale’s mind. “Hold on as tightly as you need to.” 

Aziraphale obeyed, fingers curling in soft sheets to the point of nearly ripping them as Crowley’s hand slid between them. Long fingers wrapped around his aching cock and Aziraphale arched up and cried out in surprise. “Please, Crowley, please,” he whimpered, tilting his head and seeking out his lips. Crowley obliged, kissing him breathless as his lubed hand worked over Aziraphale’s cock, twisting at the head and dragging down, over and over in time with his thrusts. 

“I’ve got you Aziraphale,” Crowley murmured when Aziraphale was panting too harshly to maintain a kiss. “Go on, I want to see you let go. Be a good angel, be good for me, let go.” His breath was hot against Aziraphale’s ear as Crowley, the devil at his shoulder, thrust particularly hard and tipped him over the edge. 

Pressure and white hot pleasure coursed up his spine and he gave a broken shout, his whole body tense and wrung out. At the same time, Crowley bent his head down to the freshly made mark and bit again, hot tongue pressing against the abused skin as Aziraphale trembled apart. Crowley came again, Aziraphale realized belatedly. The orgasmic haze left him heavy and dragging his thoughts along behind him. Crowley stroked him until he was too sensitive, continuing to work his mouth over the bite until Aziraphale reached up and half-heartedly pushed his head away with a whine. 

Crowley chuckled, the damned bastard. “Angel.” 

“Mm.” Aziraphale didn’t have the ability to speak. He momentarily forgot what words were. He did, however, wrinkle his nose in distaste as Crowley slid out of him and his release followed. It made Aziraphale shudder and wrap his arms around Crowley, holding him closer. 

“Shh,” Crowley shushed him, kissing his cheek and then nosing over to press a kiss to his lips. “You’re a mess.” 

“Mmph.” Aziraphale fought to regain his breath. 

“Take your time.” Crowley kissed him again on the lips, then on the nose. He kissed away a few errant tears. “I’m here. I’ve got you.” 

Aziraphale idly pet Crowley’s hair as his trembling slowly eased and gave way to exhaustion. 

“Alright,” Crowley said after an indeterminate amount of time. “I need you to say  _ something _ angel, just so I know I haven’t killed you.” 

“As if you could,” Aziraphale mumbled and Crowley huffed a soft laugh. 

“There you are.” He brought a hand up to touch Aziraphale’s cheek, leaning in to press their foreheads together. Aziraphale opened his eyes and peered up into Crowley’s, finding them alight with what could only be described as  _ joy _ . He inhaled deeply, letting Crowley’s scent surround him, enjoying the bite of citrus and comforting undertones of incense and ginger. 

His shoulder ached, he realized as their bodies cooled. Crowley’s come continued to leak out of him and he whined. It was unpleasant. 

“I know, I know,” Crowley groused, but there was a ghost of a smile on his lips. He kissed Aziraphale’s forehead and slowly pulled away. Aziraphale missed the weight and warmth of him dearly and reached out to grab his forearm, holding him there. Crowley studied his face thoughtfully before smiling. “Come on, angel, let’s take a bath.” 

Aziraphale allowed Crowley to tug him up and off the bed. As he rose to his feet his legs gave out, thighs trembling as Crowley looped an arm around his waist. Aziraphale gathered himself, walking with Crowley into the ensuite bathroom. Ahead of them the large in-ground tub was already filled with steaming water and the air was lightly scented with Crowley’s familiar citrus and ginger.

Crowley slipped into the water first with a pleased hiss, settling into the tub. Aziraphale sat on the edge and then got in, not trusting his legs otherwise. As soon as he was submerged in the comforting heat of it, Crowley’s arms were around him, pulling him close. He settled with his back to Crowley’s chest, his head lolling back against Crowley’s shoulder. He couldn’t be put together even if he wanted to be, he was wrecked. 

“How’s my shoulder?” Aziraphale asked after a few moments of basking in the quiet heat of it all. 

“Bitten up,” Crowley admitted, pressing soft fingers against it. Aziraphale flinched away, grimacing. “I drew blood. Twice.” 

“That was two claimings?” Aziraphale asked, aware that Crowley’s other hand was drawing idly shapes on his belly and chest beneath the water. 

“Mm. Not really?” Crowley leaned down and kissed the bite. “I’m not sure. I don’t think it works quite like that, but I certainly bit you twice. I couldn’t help myself.” 

“Clearly not,” Aziraphale wanted to sound fussy, but it came out in slurred, drowsy words. Crowley chuckled and it vibrated against Aziraphale’s back. 

“Whatever the case, you’re certainly claimed.” Crowley’s hand stilled beneath the water, splayed across one of Aziraphale’s thighs. “I’ll treat the wound once we’re out of the bath.” 

“Shall I bathe you,  _ sir _ ?” Aziraphale asked with a teasing air, though he realized it was likely something a slave could and perhaps ought to do. 

“No,” Crowley whispered into his ear. “I’d like to clean you up, though.” 

“Oh.” Aziraphale blushed and turned to bury his face in the side of Crowley’s neck. This was something different, something warm and soft and comforting. He pressed a shy kiss to Crowley’s pulse. 

Eventually Crowley was able to convince him to shift around so he could run a soft washcloth over just about every inch of skin. He used the lemon-ginger soap that was the same as in Aziraphale’s bathroom, leaving him feeling clean and smelling like a wonderful mix of Crowley and soap. When they emerged from the bath, Crowley wrapped him in a towel and then dried himself off, disappearing into his bedroom with the promise of returning with pajamas. 

“I can get my own,” Aziraphale said to Crowley’s back, but it was too late. He focused on drying off, shivering a little as he ran the towel over his damp hair. Crowley returned a moment later dressed in pajamas already, holding out a set from Aziraphale’s room. 

Aziraphale took them. “Thank you.” He hung the towel to dry and pulled on the soft pajamas and followed Crowley back into his bedroom. He noticed with a measure of amusement that the sheets had been changed, now a dark midnight blue as opposed to the tree bark brown they’d been earlier. 

He glanced at Crowley who looked a bit out of place and a lot like he wanted to say something. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked. 

“I ought to see to your shoulder,” he said, but glanced away. “Come, sit.” He motioned to the bed. Aziraphale found this puzzling, but wandered over and sat down. Crowley sat behind him, pushing his nightshirt off of his shoulder just enough to get to his mark. He began the process of smearing the ointment over it, Aziraphale shivering and occasionally flinching until the familiar coolness seeped into his skin. 

He leaned back against Crowley who made a surprised noise in his throat, then wrapped his arm around Aziraphale’s waist and held him. 

“You’ll stay with me tonight?” It was a question, not a fact. Crowley sounded like he expected Aziraphale to say no. And maybe he should, maybe he should retire to his own room and sleep by himself and pretend he wasn’t slowly growing attached to this world’s Crowley. But he couldn’t do it. Instead he snuggled back against Crowley’s chest and tilted his head to brush his nose against his jaw. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied, and Crowley relaxed. 

“Good.” Crowley turned to kiss the tip of Aziraphale’s nose. “That was different, I think,” he said after a moment. 

“Hm?” Aziraphale opened his eyes and peered at him. Crowley was looking across the room, lips held in a thin line. 

“What we just did. It was different than...than what it usually is. Not that I have a lot of experience with claiming but I’ve never, er, experienced that. The second round.” He huffed. “Not that I’ve experienced the first round except for you either but I haven’t heard about - about...you know.” Crowley vibrated with nervous energy. 

Aziraphale laid his hand against Crowley’s arm and dragged his palm along it in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. “Let’s not try to figure it out tonight, hm?” Even though Crowley was right, there’d been something different about it. But Aziraphale was tired and barely hanging onto consciousness, and now that his shoulder had been soothed he was ready to sleep. 

“Right. Of course. You must be exhausted.” Crowley moved them around until they were buried beneath the blankets, Aziraphale pressed up against Crowley’s side. He had his head on his chest, arm slung across his waist, and was able to listen to Crowley’s heart beat steadily beneath his ear. 

“Goodnight, dear boy,” Aziraphale mumbled, nuzzling Crowley’s chest. Crowley brought a hand to his head and pet his curls. 

“Goodnight, angel. Get some rest.” 

Aziraphale did, Crowley’s heartbeat chasing him into a dreamless sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Tuesday & Friday. 
> 
> Come chat with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com). I promise I don't bite (unless you're into that sort of thing)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lenore shows up with some information that tests Crowley's trust in Aziraphale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes this is an early chapter because I have an early appointment tomorrow (BEFORE work! It is a CRIME! Why did I do this to myself?) and morning me is a complete dunce who will definitely forget to put up the chapter. Thus, here we are. Thank you, as always, for your lovely responses. The last chapter was one I took a lot of time with because I wanted it to feel right and I'm glad it seemed to hit the spot. From here on out, prepare for a lot of smutty nonsense from these two who apparently can't keep their hands off each other now. Smidge of plot this chapter, then a lot of smut, including **genderfluid Crowley**! (Update made to the tags). 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy. This is actually my first time writing a smut scene with a vulva involved so there you go.

The next morning, Aziraphale woke up warm and relaxed. The blankets were a comforting weight, and at some point in the night he’d ended up being the big spoon to Crowley’s little one. He dipped his head down to nuzzle at the back of Crowley’s shoulders and it drew a discontented grumble from him. 

“Too early,” Crowley mumbled. “Sleep.” 

“No,” Aziraphale teased. 

“Ugh.” Crowley rolled in his arms and squinted at him. “You’re s’possed to listen to me.” He slurred endearingly, obviously having trouble shrugging off sleep. 

“I know.” Aziraphale watched as Crowley closed his eyes and went lax again, drifting. He let him, watching him rest, loathe to get out of bed and leave the warmth and the little nest of safety they’d managed to create together. Aziraphale pet Crowley’s hair, eliciting another grumble. 

“I’ll be back, I’m going to put coffee on and perhaps some tea.” Aziraphale slid out of the bed and heard a softly grumbled ‘no’ from Crowley before he went still and quiet. Smiling, fondness welling up in his chest, Aziraphale made his way out to the kitchen and put on both the coffee maker and the kettle. He rolled his shoulders, his corporation achy from their activities the night before. He lifted up onto his toes to stretch, groaning under his breath as he listened to the perculator, the smell of coffee filling the room. 

A knock startled him out of his haze and he frowned, walking over to the door. He waited until there was another knock, this one hurried, and then he cracked it open. On the other side was Lenore, standing tall and out of place in the hallway. 

“Aziraphale,” he greeted, glancing around nervously. “I have news.” 

“Oh.” Aziraphale opened the door. “Please, come in won’t you?” 

Lenore hesitated. “Is your master home?” 

“Yes, he’s sleeping.” He watched as Lenore once more looked around and then peered over Aziraphale’s shoulder, large eyes holding so much worry. “What’s wrong dear boy?” 

“It is odd, going into another demon’s house. Everything smells like him. It makes me nervous.” He frowned. “I wanted to wait until you came to mine again but I realized this information may be time sensitive so I - I  _ left _ the library which I rarely do and I’m tired of everyone looking at me and I don’t wish -” he paused and cocked his head, eyes no longer meeting Aziraphale’s. 

“Oh.” He reached out and touched the newly made marks on Aziraphale’s shoulder reverently, gently. Aziraphale winced as they were still sore and if Lenore noticed it he gave no indication, even as he took his hand back and looked from the marks to Aziraphale and then back to the marks. “ _ Oh _ .” 

“What?” Aziraphale’s chest tightened a bit. Was something wrong? He tried to glance at the mark but as always it was too awkward an angle to really see it clearly. 

“Nothing,” Lenore answered quickly, an obvious lie as his eyes darted away. “Not important right now. Right now I need to talk and I suppose I will come in.” He hesitated before he crossed over the threshold. “Is that coffee I smell?” 

“Yes, would you like some?” 

“Oh, please.” Lenore went to the kitchen while Aziraphale hung back to close the door. Then he followed, finding Lenore standing just as awkwardly in his kitchen, looking around before his eyes found Aziraphale again. 

“Sit, please. I’ll fix it up for you.” 

“Right, right.” He sat at one of the chairs, towering above the table, seeming so large and out of place in such a small home. He pulled something out of the pocket of his cardigan, smoothing the paper out on the tabletop. 

“Angel?” Crowley stepped into the room and looked at Lenore, then at Aziraphale, a question in his eyes. 

“Lenore is here,” Aziraphale announced. 

“I can see that.” Crowley frowned and scratched his cheek. 

“I have information for Aziraphale that couldn’t wait,” Lenore informed him. 

“Right. Should I, er, leave you to it?” Crowley directed the question at Aziraphale. 

That brought him pause. He wasn’t sure what information Lenore was following up on, though he had a suspicion it might have to do with Anathema. He wanted Crowley to know, wanted him to believe, and help him, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready. What they had seemed so new and fragile. Whatever they discovered together last night needed time to be tended to.

“I don’t imagine there’s any harm to him being here,” Lenore said, giving Crowley a curious glance. Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. Lenore’s change of heart about Crowley confused him, but he looked at Crowley and shrugged. 

“I’ll make you some coffee as well. Lenore, feel free to share as I put it all together.” 

Crowley sat down at the chair across from Lenore as Aziraphale turned to the cupboards, pulling out mugs. 

“I found information on one Anathema Device, the girl with the book on prophecy.” Lenore sounded quite proud of himself. “She’s outside of London, in the village of Tadfield. She called on some occult energies very, very recently which is how I found her. Here.” He tapped the paper on the table. 

Aziraphale brought the coffee mugs over and set them in front of Crowley and Lenore respectively. 

“I couldn’t trouble you for milk and sugar, could I?” Lenore asked. 

“Of course, dear boy.” Aziraphale fetched it as he absorbed the information. Anathema was alive, and still a witch. That was a relief. He wondered, briefly, if she might have memories too but he didn’t want to get his hopes up. Like his relationship with Crowley, his mission was fragile.

“Outside of that I’m afraid I couldn’t glean much more. She seems to be in one piece despite the Apocalypse. I’m sure it helps that she dabbles in the occult.” He took a sip of his coffee and hummed in delight. “Oh Aziraphale this is  _ wonderful _ .” 

Thankfully for Lenore, Aziraphale was the only one who caught Crowley mouthing the same words, mocking him. He shot Crowley a disapproving stare and the demon rolled his eyes. 

“I’m glad you think so.” He held a mug of tea in his hands. “And thank you for bringing the information. Why was it time sensitive?” 

“Ah, yes,” Lenore frowned at his coffee. “I’m afraid I managed to track down some memos from the Horsemen about their next round of destruction. The apocalypse happened a month ago now and they believe more terror ought to be wrought before the humans begin to adapt. It is going to happen soon and I’m afraid you may lose track of the girl.” 

Aziraphale’s heart sank and he felt a bit queasy, setting his tea aside. “Right.” He had less time than he initially thought, then. “Any idea when this next round is set to begin?” 

“In another week or so at most. Prince Beelzebub has been asked to offer their expertise on the issue, and the antichrist will wait for his advisors before he allows the Horsemen to make a move. Adam is, perhaps, the only thing that still protects humanity.” Lenore sighed, polishing off his coffee. Aziraphale wondered how it didn’t burn him and thought perhaps it was a perk of being a demon. 

“Time sensitive indeed, then.” Aziraphale glanced at Crowley who appeared pensive, but otherwise unreadable. “Anything else, Lenore?” 

“No, but if you come across that book of prophecy I would certainly like to take a look at it, even if it cannot become part of my collection.” Lenore cast Aziraphale a hopeful look. 

“Of course, my dear. I wouldn’t dare keep it from you.” Aziraphale smiled at him. Lenore appeared satisfied with that and took his cup over to the sink, rinsing it out and washing it before setting it to dry. Then he turned to Aziraphale. 

“Right, I ought to be off.” He glanced at Crowley then back at Aziraphale. “I hope to see you soon Aziraphale.” 

“Yes, yes. I will not be a stranger.” With that, Lenore departed, Aziraphale shadowing him out the door. When the door was shut, Aziraphale returned to the kitchen and was immediately crowded up against the wall and kissed soundly. He made a surprised noise and then leaned into it, reaching up to run his hands through Crowley’s hair as his mouth opened under the attention. 

Crowley’s tongue pressed into his mouth, stroking against his, then the roof of his mouth. His hands smoothed down Aziraphale’s sides, one eventually resting on his hip while the other came up to touch his jaw. They kissed until Aziraphale had to pull back, breathless, but brushing his nose against Crowley’s affectionately as they fought to catch their breath. 

“What was that?” Aziraphale asked, shivering as Crowley’s fingers found their way to his hair and tugged ever-so-gently. 

“There was another demon in my house,” Crowley grumbled as he kissed Aziraphale’s jaw and then down along his neck, nuzzling along the line of his collar. “You’re  _ mine _ .” 

Aziraphale reached up to guide Crowley’s face back to him, leaning in to steal another kiss. This time Crowley groaned into it, needy and still crowding Aziraphale against the wall. 

“I’m yours,” Aziraphale whispered against his lips as the frantic kissing slowed and Crowley seemed to calm. He pressed an apologetic kiss to the edge of Aziraphale’s mouth and then leaned forward to bury his face in his shoulder. 

“Instincts?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley sighed. 

“ _ Yes _ ,” he replied, sounding a bit embarrassed even as his hands slid around to Aziraphale’s ass and pulled their hips together. “I’m slightly territorial,” he grumbled. 

“I could tell.” Aziraphale ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair and scratched at his scalp. “Shall we go back to bed?” 

Crowley looked up at him, startled. “You want to?” 

There was something in that look that tugged at Aziraphale’s heart. This thing between them really  _ was _ fragile. He touched Crowley’s cheek. “Of course I do.” 

“Then yes.” Crowley kissed him, a quick peck on the lips before he reached down and took Aziraphale’s hand. 

He laced their fingers together and Aziraphale blushed, as if it were the most intimate thing they had done. Crowley tugged Aziraphale back down the hallway, down to his room, and bullied him back under the blankets.  _ This _ was the serpent he knew, the one that wound his way around Aziraphale until they were a mess of tangled limbs, bodies pressed warmly together. 

“Why was Lenore looking into a human?” Crowley asked after they had been resting for a while. Aziraphale had been turning the facts over in his mind while Crowley napped. Now, it seemed, he was awake. 

“She has a book of prophecy, the only copy, and the only one that has ever been entirely correct.” Aziraphale accommodated Crowley shifting in his arms to settle closer. “Lenore was interested in it, I happen to...know about her.” 

“How?” Crowley peered at him with yellow serpent eyes and Aziraphale didn’t want to lie. He reached out and cupped Crowley’s cheek, leaning in to kiss him softly. 

“I’ve tried to tell you,” he said, gazing at Crowley, trying to convey the truth with every cell in his body. “In another world, another time, we saved the world. Anathema and her relative’s book of prophecy made it possible.” 

Crowley, for once, didn’t call him delusional. It was progress. Instead, he seemed to consider it. “And you think in finding her you can save the world again?” He asked. 

“I don’t know.” Aziraphale frowned and ran his thumb over Crowley’s cheekbone. “I’m grasping at straws. I want to return the world back to what it was, and I think in order to do that I need to figure out what happened to everyone involved in reality as I knew it. See if there’s clues.” 

“So you need to go to Earth.” 

Aziraphale hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.” 

Crowley pulled out of his arms and Aziraphale felt panic rising in his chest. He watched as Crowley sat up and dragged a pillow into his arms, hugging it. “Is that what this is, then?” 

“What?” Aziraphale sat up. 

“ _ This _ ,” Crowley punctuated it by motioning between the two of them. “You want me to take you to Earth.” 

“No.” Aziraphale shook his head. “No that’s not what  _ this _ is. Need I remind you that you’re the one that took me twice last night? You’re the one who - who gave me that? That came from you, I wasn’t manipulating you. How could you think that?” 

Something in Crowley eased ever so slightly as he chanced a glance at Aziraphale. Then he reached out and Aziraphale reached back and the pair of them shifted and squirmed until they were tangled once more beneath the comforter. This time it was Aziraphale’s head nestled beneath Crowley’s chin.

“I’ll help you,” Crowley said quietly after a while of silence. 

“Why the change of heart?” Aziraphale had to ask and wanted to understand. 

“I think you’re telling the truth.” Crowley rested his cheek on top of Aziraphale’s head. “And if there’s a way to restore everything to a better time? Then I’m willing to take a chance for that.” 

Underneath those words Aziraphale heard him really say he was willing to take a chance for  _ him _ and he tried to bite back the feelings of guilt that came with it. Instead he nodded against Crowley’s chest and then slipped one of his hands under Crowley’s shirt, running it along his side. Crowley made an inquisitive noise and Aziraphale leaned back enough to meet his gaze. 

“I want you, again,” Aziraphale said softly. Crowley’s pupils visibly dilated as he shifted Aziraphale onto his back. 

“Yeah?” He breathed out, leaning down so their faces were close. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied. He brushed their lips together teasingly and felt Crowley’s curl into a smile. 

“That’s convenient, because I’ve wanted you since you slipped out of bed this morning.” Crowley reached down and hiked up Aziraphale’s shirt, his fingers teasing up to his chest and brushing one of his nipples. He pinched it gently as he leaned in and stole a kiss, Aziraphale gasping into it. Crowley’s thumb followed the pinch, soothing the nub as he ran the pad of his thumb around it. 

Crowley broke the kiss and gazed down at Aziraphale with a soft smile. “Shirt off,” he insisted. 

“Right.” Aziraphale squirmed beneath him and slid his shirt off. He wanted to fold it, but Crowley saved him the trouble by snatching it out of his hands and tossing it away to the floor. 

**

With Aziraphale shirtless beneath him, Crowley sat back and considered his options. There was a lovely flush that started at Aziraphale’s cheeks and crept all the way down to his chest and Crowley felt the momentary urge to bind his hands above his head and have his way with him. He nixed it though when he saw the trusting way Aziraphale watched him, eyes blue and brimming with arousal, waiting oh-so-patiently for Crowley to decide what was next. 

He ran the flat of his hand over Aziraphale’s plush stomach and enjoyed the way the angel twitched and fidgeted beneath it, almost shy, but not quite. 

“Will you trust me, Aziraphale?” Crowley asked and watched as Aziraphale considered it. He would not take, not now, not when the heat of claiming was nowhere to be found. The new marks on Aziraphale’s neck were stark and obvious, Crowley’s scent on his skin, there was no need to take. He would only accept what Aziraphale was willing to give him. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale breathed as he reached down for Crowley’s hand and took it into his own, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss his knuckles. Crowley smiled and used that connection to gently guide Aziraphale’s hand above his head, touching it to the metal bars he’d created the previous night for his handcuffs. 

“Hold onto the bar, then. Both hands, that’s a good boy,” he watched Aziraphale shudder with the praise as he reached up with both hands to grab the bar. “I don’t want you to let go until I tell you to, alright? I know you can be good for me.” He leaned down and kissed him softly, Aziraphale chasing his mouth as he pulled back. “Can you be good for me?” 

“Yes,” Aziraphale murmured, then, because he’s just a little bit of a bastard, added, “master.” 

Oh, that did things to Crowley. It sent liquid heat straight between his legs and he had to bite back a groan as he leaned in and stole a far more vicious kiss from Aziraphale’s lips. 

He reached up to lay a hand on Aziraphale’s bicep as they kissed, delighting in the way his muscles tensed and relaxed as he forced himself to hold onto the bar. Yes, this was going to be wonderful. He made sure Aziraphale was thoroughly debauched by the kissing, lips red and a little swollen, before he moved his lips to his jaw, then his neck, listening to the soft little hitches in Aziraphale’s breath and his quiet whines. 

This is what Aziraphale deserved, he thought. Someone to dote on him, to care for him, to worship him with their mouth. He might not entirely understand what he agreed to, taking Aziraphale to Earth, but something about the angel compelled him to action. It was as if they knew each other, like Aziraphale said. 

Crowley mouthed down to Aziraphale’s nipple, laving his tongue over it as his hand slid from his bicep down to the other nipple and rubbed. Both came to attention rather quickly and Aziraphale squirmed, earning a soft press of teeth which drew a surprised gasp from his lips. Such beautiful, heavenly sounds were music to Crowley’s ear as he switched, paying attention to the other nipple with his mouth while he rolled the spit slick one gently between his fingers. 

Aziraphale’s skin tasted like his scent and cocoa and old books. If he allowed himself to be lost in his senses he could reach out and touch the shimmering edge of Aziraphale’s incorporeal form. Despite his captured and bound form, the collar around Aziraphale’s neck draining his power, the  _ him _ beyond his corporation shone bright in the ether. It vibrated with excitement, with arousal, and with an impossible love that sent Crowley’s shadowy heart slinking back into his body. 

He kissed down Aziraphale’s stomach, hands skimming his sides, and when he reached his hips he peered up at the angel to find shining blue eyes as vast as the sea staring down at him. 

“Hello,” Crowley greeted with a cheeky smile as his fingers danced along the waist of Aziraphale’s trousers. “Being good for me, angel?” 

Aziraphale flexed and tugged on the bar as if to make the point, eyebrows raised. It looked a bit ridiculous on his flushed face, lips parted with shallow breath. 

“Of course you’re being good for me, it is in your nature isn’t it? To be a good angel. You’re not touching, which means whatever I do to you are the wiles of a demon and nothing more hm?” He delighted in the way Aziraphale’s expression grew slack and he closed his eyes, his head thumping back against the pillow. 

“Crowley  _ please _ ,” Aziraphale groaned. 

“Please what, angel? That’s an awfully nice word for someone about to be debauched by an agent of Lucifer himself.” He grinned, even though Aziraphale couldn’t see it. “But I suppose that’s what makes you so good for me, so willing to take it from a demon because you don’t really have another choice do you? You’re  _ mine _ .” 

He had a choice, of course. One Crowley hopefully made abundantly clear earlier. It was Aziraphale who had drawn him back to bed, and the angel had been the one to whisper those beautiful words:  _ I want you _ . It was difficult to believe, and guilt still churned in his gut as he wondered if he was compelling the angel. But something had changed in their dynamic the previous night, during the claiming. He knew, somehow, that they were equal. 

It didn’t make any sense and he tucked it away for later, because at the moment he had a writhing angel beneath him whose cock was straining in his trousers and it would be cruel to neglect him in such a state. He dipped his head down and pressed a light kiss to the bulge through the fabric, enjoying the way Aziraphale’s hips arched up in a silent plea for more. 

“Patience,” Crowley murmured as he pressed an open mouthed kiss to it, laving his tongue against the fabric until it was slightly damp. Aziraphale let out a pathetic whimper and Crowley laid a hand against his thigh, digging his fingers into tense muscles as the angel fought the urge to buck. “Good boy, you’re doing so well for me.” 

As a reward, Crowley reached up and slowly slid his trousers and underwear down in one go. He followed the line of Aziraphale’s leg, pulling them off of his feet and tossing them carelessly to the floor. Then he settled on his knees between Aziraphale’s legs, eyes trailing from his leaking cock up to his flushed chest and face. 

“Aren’t you a sight,” Crowley murmured, a wave of affection nearly bowling him over as he tenderly stroked up along the inside of Aziraphale’s thighs with both hands, gently pushing his legs apart. Aziraphale watched him with hooded eyes. He settled low between his legs and turned his head to press hot kisses where his hand had just been, nipping and sucking to leave a trail of cherry red marks up to the crease of Aziraphale’s leg. He maneuvered around his twitching cock and proceeded to give the other thigh the same attention, delighted by Aziraphale’s contented sigh from above him. 

“You’re a tease,” Aziraphale murmured, voice laced with affection that made Crowley shiver. 

“Yes, yes I am,” Crowley admitted, smiling into the soft skin of Aziraphale’s thigh as he bit down and sucked, making a lovely bruise that stood out starkly against his pale skin. He nosed and kissed his way up to Aziraphale’s hip before he turned his head and blew a puff of warm air against his cock. 

It twitched and Aziraphale gasped, then whimpered. “Crowley.” 

“I know,” he soothed, running his hand over Aziraphale’s opposite thigh, enjoying the goosebumps the touch wrought as his thumb traced the kiss marks. He leaned forward and pressed a ghost of a kiss to the base of Aziraphale’s cock then flicked his tongue out to taste the salty, velvet skin. Aziraphale took a shaky breath that Crowley could feel where his cheek rested against his hip. He wanted to  _ enjoy _ this, in a way he couldn’t the first time they were together, or even the second. 

He wanted to drive Aziraphale out of his mind with pleasure, in small part to make up for all the pain he’d experienced so far. 

Crowley did take pity on him though and, with the hand on his thigh sliding up to pin Aziraphale’s hip down, he began to languidly kiss up the length of his cock. As predicted, Aziraphale tried to buck into the sensation and Crowley pressed him firmly back down as he got to the head. He kissed the underside of it, flicking his tongue out, before he licked along the whole length. 

Aziraphale whined and took a few more steadying breaths, clearly trying to control himself. It made Crowley hot to think about how good he was, that Aziraphale wanted to obey and his hands were still wrapped firmly around the bar by  _ choice _ . As he finally took the head of Aziraphale’s cock into his mouth to lap at the slit he moved his free hand down between his own legs, hastily shoving down his sleeping trousers to reach down and touch his wet, aching cunt.

The panties he’d manifested around the same time he switched his genitalia were soaked as he rubbed himself through them, taking more of Aziraphale’s cock into his mouth. He bobbed his head in time with strokes to his clit through the damp fabric, enjoying the dual sensations. He moaned around Aziraphale who, despite being held down, tried to buck up and cried out. The metal in his hands creaked and Crowley wondered if he could get the angel worked up enough to bend it. 

That was a thought, wasn’t it. He pushed his panties aside and fingered his folds, dragging slick up from his cunt to his clit and circling it as he took more of Aziraphale’s cock into his mouth. He allowed himself to drool around it a bit, less refined than he’d like to be but it seemed to do it for Aziraphale who continued to whimper and squirm under the attention. 

Finally, as he lapped up the latest glut of precome gathering at the slit of Aziraphale’s cock, he pulled off and gazed up at him. His eyes were closed, lips parted, chest heaving with unsteady breaths. Crowley waited and finally Aziraphale seemed to gather himself enough to peer down at Crowley, a little smile quirking up at the edge of his lips. 

“You’re beautiful,” Crowley murmured, squirming out of his pants and trousers completely, kicking them off and shucking his shirt. He pressed a series of kisses to Aziraphale’s belly as he slid up his body and straddled his hips. 

Aziraphale smiled more, then his eyes flicked down between Crowley’s legs and he looked puzzled. Then, when the pieces seemed to click into place, his eyes widened and he gazed up at Crowley. “Oh.” 

“Yes,  _ oh _ ” Crowley grinned deviously. “Keep your hands right where they are until I tell you otherwise, angel. You’ve been so good for me so far, I want you to keep being good alright?” 

“ _ Crowley _ ,” Aziraphale whined, his knuckles white from gripping the bar so hard. “I want to touch you.” 

“And I will let you in good time. I promise.” He leaned down and kissed him, a hand coming up to tenderly cup Aziraphale’s cheek. Aziraphale kissed back hungrily, nipping at Crowley’s lower lip, his tongue licking into his mouth. Crowley groaned and rocked his cunt down against Aziraphale’s cock, grinding against him, and they moaned into each other’s mouths. 

“Patience,” Crowley murmured as he finally pulled back. He reached down and stroked Aziraphale’s cock before guiding the head to his cunt, rubbing it along the slit with a little groan. He gathered slick from his opening onto it and dragged it up to his clit, rubbing the head of Aizraphale’s cock in circles around it. 

“You feel wonderful, angel,” Crowley groaned and looked at Aziraphale who watched him still with wide eyes, rapt at attention just like Crowley wanted him to be. With a placating smile he guided Aziraphale’s cock into the heat of him. With slow movements he took him in inch by inch, groaning.

He finally settled against Aziraphale’s hips, tilting his head back and running his fingers down his own throat as he basked in the pleasure of being full. Then he rolled his hips and the gasp it dragged out of Aziraphale was so wonderful he did it again. 

Reaching forward, he rested his hands against Aziraphale’s chest for leverage as he began to move in earnest, lifting up and dropping back down, grinding on the downward push. He allowed Aziraphale’s hips to buck up, enjoying the force with which their bodies connected. It had been so long since he’d had a reason to manifest a cunt, even longer since he’d had someone he wanted to share it with. 

One of his hands stroked over Aziraphale’s chest, fingers finding a pert nipple to stroke and then pinch. Aziraphale cried out in surprise, hips bucking sharply up as Crowley let out a pleased moan. “That’s right angel, just like that,” he purred, doing it again to get a similar reaction. 

The pressure and girth of Aziraphale’s cock was wonderful as he rode him in earnest, slick and eager. Keeping one hand resting firmly on Aziraphale’s chest, he brought his other down to his clit to roll it and rub it in time with the thrusts. The tension curled in his stomach and hips, the heat almost too much as he gazed down at Aziraphale and saw his beautiful blue eyes staring intently at him. Aziraphale looked a bit wild, eyes fierce and full of unbridled affection. 

It made his heart pound against his chest as he realized, quite frantically, that he needed Aziraphale to touch him  _ now _ . “Angel,” he said, his voice full of emotions he couldn’t quite sort as he slid off of Aziraphale. “Up, sit up. Hands. I...ngk.” He tried to push Aziraphale into the correct position. 

Aziraphale seemed to understand as he slid up into a sitting position, piling pillows against his back before reaching out for Crowley. Crowley clambered into his lap and kissed him sloppily as Aziraphale slid back into him with a cheeky thrust that made them both moan. Crowley’s fingers were buried in Aziraphale’s curls as he began to ride him in earnest, Aziraphale thrusting up to meet each downward grind of Crowley’s hips as his hands danced along his back and ass. 

They kissed and it was a mess, saliva on chins and cheeks as their mouths met in one open mouthed kiss after another. Aziraphale’s hands on him were a steadying force, one cupping his ass, the other running up and down his spine, each touch so overwhelmingly affectionate. They panted into each other’s mouths when kissing became too much, when they were both so overwhelmed and so  _ close _ that nothing mattered except being near. 

Aziraphale nipped Crowley’s lower lip as the hand on his back slipped around and clever fingers found his clit, rubbing it between his fingers as he mouthed at Crowley’s neck. 

“Angel, Aziraphale, fuck,” Crowley whined, tilting his head back so Aziraphale could bite down on his throat, sucking on it, bound to leave a mark that made Crowley grind down onto him particularly hard. “Please, angel.” He wasn’t sure what he was asking for but it didn’t matter, because Aziraphale bit him again, and  _ again _ , and then Crowley was shouting into the open air as his cunt clenched around Aziraphale’s cock. Pleasure and heat shot up his spine and through him as his head went light and dizzy. He held onto Aziraphale’s shoulders, whimpering as he continued to work over Aziraphale’s cock, drawing out his orgasm. 

The slick sounds of their union were more obvious now and Aziraphale began to thrust up in earnest, his hands moving to rest on Crowley’s lower back. 

“Can I?” He asked against Crowley’s neck. “Let me…” He didn’t seem able to get his full request out but Crowley didn’t care. Anything Aziraphale wanted to do, he’d let him. 

“Yes,” Crowley hissed, and Aziraphale used his weight to tip Crowley back, pinning him to the bed beneath him. With understanding, Crowley hitched his legs up around Aziraphale’s hips. Their hands found each other, fingers twining together as Aziraphale pinned their joined hands to the bed by Crowley’s head and began to thrust hard and fast. 

Aziraphale kissed him, their lips dragging and slipping. 

“Come for me, angel,” Crowley murmured against his lips. “I want to feel you.” 

Aziraphale whined, the grip he had on Crowley’s hands tightening as his thrusts became frantic. He broke away from kissing and pressed his forehead into Crowley’s shoulder, breath hot against his skin. 

“That’s right, that’s right Aziraphale,” Crowley gasped out. “Go on. Let go.” 

Three more thrusts and Aziraphale cried out against his skin, teeth pressing without biting as his thrusts became rough and staggered. Crowley could feel the warmth of Aziraphale’s release inside of him as he rode it out, eventually stilling with his cock half inside of Crowley. Aziraphale whimpered against his shoulder and Crowley pulled one of his hands free of Aziraphale’s grasp, reaching up to pet him. 

“Good angel,” he cooed into his ear. “That was wonderful, you were so perfect.” 

Aziraphale didn’t reply, fighting to catch his breath as Crowley continued to pet him. He moved his hips enough to slide out of him, but stayed pressed close. Crowley didn’t mind as he rubbed Aziraphale’s scalp and drew his fingers down to the nape of his neck. 

Once he caught his breath, Aziraphale pressed a kiss to the spot he’d nearly bitten, then kissed below that and began a trail down Crowley’s body. 

“Angel?” He asked, and Aziraphale glanced up at him, sweaty curls plastered to his forehead as he placed another kiss right above Crowley’s nipple. His lips curled into an impish smile as he continued his trail downward, mouth warm and welcoming against Crowley’s overheated skin. He took a deep breath and relaxed, trusting Aziraphale in whatever it was he intended to do. 

The angel ended up between his legs, guiding them up and over his shoulders before he cast a final inquisitive glance up at him. Crowley groaned, realizing exactly what Aziraphale intended to do. 

“You have permission,” he all but groaned out. “Clean me up, angel.” 

“Yes master,” he whispered as he pressed a kiss to Crowley’s thigh and then to the outside lips, moving his hot mouth steadily inward. One hand came to spread Crowley open as his tongue dipped in, lapping at the come Crowley could feel slipping out of him. He tangled his hands in the blankets, for lack of anything else to hold onto, as pleasure sparked through him and mellowed out into a familiar heat. 

Aziraphale’s nose brushed his clit and his hips jerked, Aziraphale’s free hand coming to rest against Crowley’s belly to hold him gently down. Then he licked into him in earnest, eagerly eating him out, his tongue hot and wet and wonderful. Aziraphale slid it up to Crowley’s clit, teasing the tip of his tongue against it before he put his lips around it and sucked, followed by the heady press of his tongue. 

Crowley wasn’t even sure he could keep track of the noises he was making, especially not when Aziraphale did it again at the same time he slipped two fingers into the wet heat of him. Aziraphale’s fingers were slow and searching, rubbing up inside of him as he continued to suck and lick at his clit. 

Already Crowley could feel another orgasm mounting as any words he wanted to say dissolved into soft whimpers. Aziraphale’s tongue slipped down to where his fingers were pressed inside of him and he made a lewd, wet noise as he lapped around them. Then he returned to Crowley’s clit as he pressed his fingers in and up and that was it, Crowley cried out, thighs pressing against the sides of Aziraphale’s head as he came around his fingers, and against his mouth. 

He panted, desperate for air, and Aziraphale backed off for only a moment, fingers stroking over sensitive thighs, lips kissing the crease of his leg, before he dove back in. He did it first with his tongue, not doubt tasting their combined release because Crowley was a wet mess and that somehow made it hotter. Then his fingers returned, swirling teasingly around his opening before dipping inside as his tongue assaulted his clit. 

It wasn’t long before he came again, this one intense and sharp as his hips nearly lifted off the bed. He felt Aziraphale smile against his thigh and before the angel could go back in for another, he lifted his leg to press his foot against his shoulder and pushed him away. 

“No more, I concede,” Crowley rasped out and swore he heard Aziraphale chuckle. Aziraphale crawled back up over Crowley, his face a wet, shining mess that Crowley pulled down for an open mouthed kiss. He enjoyed the salt and musk on Aziraphale’s tongue and leaned down to swipe his own over the mess on his chin. Once more, Aziraphale dropped his forehead to Crowley’s shoulder and pressed their bodies together warmly. Crowley reached up and ran his hands down the angel’s back, fingertips digging into the muscles around his shoulder blades where his wings would manifest. Aziraphale hummed and arched into the touch like a cat, which made Crowley double down on it. 

“We should get cleaned up,” Aziraphale mumbled as he lazily trailed kisses along Crowley’s shoulder. 

“Why?” Crowley asked, turning his head to brush a kiss to Aziraphale’s temple. “We’ve got no one to impress today.” 

“Mm. Because a warm shower sounds lovely about now.” 

“You hedonist,” Crowley grinned, even though Aziraphale couldn’t see it because he was too occupied with mouthing up along the side of Crowley’s throat. 

“Yes.” Aziraphale smiled against his pulse and nipped at it. “I also need to eat. I’m afraid our activities have left me a bit exhausted.” 

Crowley softened at that, reaching up to tug fondly at Aziraphale’s collar before he reached for his chin and directed him into a kiss. Aziraphale responded, mouth opening to Crowley’s gently probing tongue. They stayed like that for a few moments before breaking away, Aziraphale’s forehead coming to rest against Crowley’s. 

“Shower, then lunch,” Crowley agreed. “Then perhaps back to bed?” 

“You’re  _ insatiable _ ,” Aziraphale chastised with a laugh as he kissed Crowley’s nose. “Weren’t you the one who just pushed me away, hm?” 

“Yes, well, we don’t have to have  _ sex _ ,” Crowley replied a bit cattily, looking away, suddenly shy and anxious. 

“Come now,” Aziraphale said gently as he kissed the corner of Crowley’s mouth and coaxed him back to look at him. “I was teasing.” He stroked his thumb over Crowley’s cheekbone and he was smitten and slightly overwhelmed by the amount of affection in Aziraphale’s expression. “We can have a lie-in, I could certainly use a nap.” 

“Right then,” Crowley huffed. He knew cuddling was not a normal demonic trait but the thought of crawling back into bed with a very naked Aziraphale and keeping him there all day as they lounged was far too tempting to pass up. 

“Up we go, then,” Aziraphale said as he reluctantly rolled off of Crowley. Crowley immediately missed the warm weight of him, but gladly followed him into the bathroom and looked forward to kissing him up against the shower wall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Tuesday + Friday! (Next update will be Tuesday). 
> 
> Want to talk about these idiots? Come chit chat with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/).


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley talk about the state of Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man. Happy Tuesday everyone! It feels like a million years since I posted the last chapter. Thank you so much for your continued support - and I see you, Lenore fans! I'm so happy that y'all like him as much as I do. 
> 
> I just finished writing chapter 28, if you can believe it. This whole beast is over 100k words and...I think nearly finished. Thanks as always to my beta, Kazeetie, who has kept up on reading chapters even while finishing finals in the last semester of college!! 
> 
> Ps. If y'all ever draw anything from this fic, including sketches, I'd love to see them!! I'm just enthralled when anyone is inspired enough to put pen to paper (or pen to tablet) based on something I wrote. I'd even be happy to feature it in the fic!

They cleaned up and ate a quick lunch before Crowley coaxed Aziraphale back into the bed and took a nap wrapped up around him. Aziraphale allowed the snuggling, every now and again brushing his fingers through Crowley’s hair. The demon would snuffle against his shoulder, sometimes nuzzle him, and then still in a rather endearing way. Once a clingy serpent, always a clingy serpent. It was a characteristic that remained consistent. 

Aziraphale occupied himself with the newspapers he’d borrowed from Lenore, leafing through them as best he could with one arm grappled by Crowley in sleep. He’d kill for a miracle, however frivolous. But he made do, frowning in displeasure at the things he read. It seemed after the apocalypse that there was chaos on Earth, which didn’t surprise him. New wars, a hunger crisis, hundreds of thousands of deaths, and so many people of faith wondering how they’d gotten it wrong. 

“Ineffable,” Aziraphale mumbled, shaking his head as he paged through to the back of the last issue. It was dated two days after what had been the start of it all, and ended with a letter from the editor claiming that it would be the last issue. The paper, and most of society as it had been, was discontinued.  _ All Hail King Adam _ , it read. 

He set the papers aside on the nightstand and turned to wrap his free arm around Crowley, pulling the demon impossibly closer as he buried his nose in his fluff of red hair. He had this, he thought, and Beelzebub as an ally. He had an address for Anathema, too, and hoped dearly that she was still alive and still had Agnes’ book. 

“Angel?” Crowley mumbled, pressing a sleepy kiss to Aziraphale’s throat. A hand crept under the hem of Aziraphale’s shirt, fingers splayed against his lower back warmly. 

“Yes, I’m here,” Aziraphale whispered in reply. He rested his cheek against the top of his head. Crowley was quiet for a few more minutes, enough for Aziraphale to begin to wonder if he’d fallen back asleep. 

“Have you thought about dinner?” Crowley asked, his voice a little clearer, a little less sleepy as his fingers flexed against Aziraphale’s skin. 

“Baked chicken and vegetables,” Aziraphale replied because he had indeed thought about dinner. 

“ _ Vegetables _ ,” Crowley groused. Aziraphale had initially assumed Crowley ate only to make sure Aziraphale did, but this Crowley actually seemed to enjoy meals. Or perhaps he enjoyed the act of cooking, it was difficult to tell the difference. 

“Yes.” Aziraphale squeezed him. 

“Alright, angel?” Crowley asked, shifting back to look him in the eye. Aziraphale faltered then, shaking his head. Crowley immediately pulled him in for a hug and Aziraphale tucked his head against Crowley’s shoulder.  _ All Hail King Adam _ , he thought again, trying not to picture the sweet curls and gentle face of the boy who had chosen his friends and family above all else as anything but a boy. 

“What’s Adam like?” Aziraphale murmured as he settled against Crowley, twining their legs together. Crowley accommodated him. 

“Young,” Crowley answered with a sigh that ruffled across the top of Aziraphale’s curls. “A bit impulsive sometimes, very much still a boy despite his powers. It is what makes him dangerous, honestly. He’s an eleven year old boy with the ability to make anything he wants, and force anyone to do whatever he wants.” 

“Does he do it?” 

“Eh,” Crowley was quiet as he seemed to consider his answer. “Not...he’s not a cruel kid, you know? But sometimes I think he doesn’t quite realize the extent of his powers. If he wants popcorn, the world is going to bend to make sure he gets popcorn right then and there.” 

“And you’re on good terms with him?” Aziraphale traced his fingers along Crowley’s spine. Crowley had remained shirtless when they returned to bed and Aziraphale had insisted on getting back into his pajamas. He was beginning to regret it, yearning for the warmth of skin on skin contact. 

“Yes. I like kids. The Horsemen, they don’t really care. Neither do most demons. They worship him, follow his orders, but they don’t  _ like _ him for the fact he’s an eleven year old. I think he’s a neat lad.” Crowley shrugged and Aziraphale could feel the motion beneath his cheek. 

“What is it you like about kids?” It was a useless question perhaps, but it got at the heart of something that Aziraphale had been curious about: what was history like for Crowley without Aziraphale there? 

“Oh, lots of things. They’re selfish, loud, ridiculous. They don’t set limits on themselves. And over the centuries I’ve watched them be so resilient. Through flood, famine, war, and even death around them, they’re the ones who still look up at the clouds and try to make shapes out of them.” Crowley’s fingers slipped down to rest warmly on Aziraphale’s tailbone, kneading gently. 

“They’re also clever and I’ve only ever been outwitted by a kid,” Crowley chuckled and it vibrated through his chest. 

“Will I get to meet him, when we go to Earth?” Aziraphale tilted his head and nuzzled at Crowley’s jaw. 

“Likely. I don’t think I can just pop up there to help you find your girl and your book without letting him know. I don’t think he’ll mind much, I’m in his good graces, but it is the Horsemen you’ll have to keep an eye on. They’re a pain in the ass.” Crowley huffed. 

Aziraphale tried to conjure images of the Horsemen in his mind again. Pollution, Famine, War, Death. “All four of them?” He asked. 

“No, three. Death, well, they’re a little busy I imagine. I always felt they were only in it because they had to be. The other three are far more enthusiastic and, if I’m honest, I feel like they may be planning a coup.” Crowley squeezed Aziraphale gently and then began to untangle their limbs, sitting up. 

“A coup?” Aziraphale sat up as well, concerned. 

“Eugh, it is just a gut feeling I guess. Lenore mentioning the memo earlier pushed me even further in that direction. They treat Adam like a thing, not a person. Being. Whatever he technically is. I think they like bowing to an eleven year old as much as anyone does,” Crowley glanced over at him. “I don’t know how long they’ll let him go unleashed before they step in and assume some degree of power.” 

“Then we’ll have to stop it all before they do.” Aziraphale’s gut told him that Adam was at the center of this, and he was going to be a necessary part in setting everything back to rights. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley tone slanted into something far more serious than it had been. “What...well. If you get what you want, if you restore the world to what you know it as, what do you think will happen to everyone?” 

He’d been specifically trying not to think of that. “I’m not entirely sure,” he admitted. It was close enough to the truth. But some part of him wondered what might happen to  _ this _ Crowley. Would he cease to exist? Would he integrate in with Aziraphale’s Crowley somehow? 

“Right.” He looked sad and Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to do with that. He reached out and tugged Crowley closer, sliding his hand up to cup his cheek. 

“None of that now,” he murmured as he leaned in and kissed him. It was warm and soft, Crowley’s lips parting easily beneath his so their tongues could brush together. Aziraphale leaned into it, his nose pressed against Crowley’s cheek as he tilted his head and deepened it. 

There was a soft growling groan in Crowley’s throat as Aziraphale pressed him gently back against the blankets. They continued to exchange slow, soft kisses until Aziraphale finally pulled back. 

“That was a nice redirection,” Crowley murmured as he leaned up to steal one more chaste kiss. 

“I try, sir,” Aziraphale replied with a smile. 

“You don’t have to say that in the house, not anymore.” Crowley reached up and brushed some stray curls off of Aziraphale’s forehead. 

“You didn’t seem too bothered earlier when I called you  _ master _ ,” Aziraphale pointed out, his grin no doubt shifting into something a bit more devious. 

“Ngk.” Crowley yanked him down for another not-so-chaste kiss before he pulled back. “You’ve certainly hit your stride, haven’t you. Mister confidence.” 

“Yes, well,” his cheeks were warm. After everything, the tension between them had impossibly eased. Aziraphale wondered if it had something to do with the last claiming, but he wasn’t sure. He didn’t have a clear enough understanding of what, exactly, claiming was. “I  _ like _ all of this.” 

“Do you?” Crowley smiled, sliding one of his legs around Aziraphale’s hip. “Tell me what you like, angel.” 

“Er,” Aziraphale glanced away and wondered if his ears were turning red. “ _ You _ .” 

“That’s a cop out,” Crowley teased and then used his strength to flip them, pinning Aziraphale beneath him on the bed. He reached up and turned Aziraphale’s face back toward him, leaning in close. “Tell me what you  _ liked _ , then.” 

“Being yours,” Aziraphale whispered, closing his eyes at the wave of emotion that accompanied those two simple words. It is what he had always wanted in his world, wasn’t it? For Crowley to be his and for he to be Crowley’s. He’d wasted so much time, so many centuries, running and hiding from Heaven and pushing Crowley away. Yet he was always there, always showing up when he was least expected, being his wonderful, ridiculous self. 

“Angel, can you look at me?” Crowley asked gently, and Aziraphale shook his head. “Shh,” he brushed his thumb over Aziraphale’s cheek. “That’s alright. You’re alright.” 

Finally, Aziraphale opened his eyes and peered up into Crowley’s, admiring the way they shined in the dim lamplight. 

“Hello,” Crowley greeted, leaning down to steal a kiss. “Should we get dinner started?” 

“Yes, I think so,” Aziraphale answered as he chased his lips and kissed him again. It took a moment for either of them to be willing to pull away, but they did it, rolling out of bed. Crowley donned a shirt and Aziraphale shoved his feet into slippers and they made their way out into the kitchen. 

While chicken baked and vegetables roasted, Aziraphale sipped his wine and considered their next steps. “I think we should pay Prince Beelzebub a visit tomorrow,” Aziraphale said finally. Crowley glanced over at him from across the table. 

“Oh?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why?” 

“If you’re really on board with helping me, they should know.” Aziraphale took a long drink, meeting Crowley’s gaze. 

“I knew they were up to something,” he grumbled, then frowned. Aziraphale could see the moment doubt flickered across his expression and he reached over, resting his hand on Crowley’s. 

“It will make more sense tomorrow, Crowley, I promise.” He squeezed his hand. Crowley relaxed, if only a little. 

“If you say so.” 

“Is there anything else I should know about Earth?” Aziraphale asked after a moment, not removing his hand from Crowley’s. 

“I think,” Crowley said pointedly, “that descriptions would not be helpful.” 

That didn’t bode well, Aziraphale thought. His heart ached for the place that had been his home for so long. Thankfully the timer dinged and drew him out of his momentary sorrow and he stood up and went to retrieve their food from the oven. They ate companionably, Crowley complimenting the meal, Aziraphale insisting it was the wine that made it any good. 

As the evening dragged into true night, the kitchen was tidied up and they lingered in the hallway. 

“Would you -” Crowley started, then stopped, frowning. He glanced at a wall, then back at Aziraphale. “Would you sleep, with me, in my room tonight?” 

He looked so uncertain, as if Aziraphale would ever be in a position to deny him. As if the previous night spent wrapped around Crowley hadn’t been the best sleep he’d had in ages. Smiling as gently as possible, he stepped closer and leaned in to kiss Crowley softly. “I would prefer it.” 

Crowley’s face broke out into a bright smile. “Good, right. C’mon then.” He took Aziraphale’s hand and tugged him back to the bedroom. Once the door was closed, Crowley crowded Aziraphale against the wall and kissed him again, lingering and warm. “May I undress you?” 

Aziraphale shivered. “Yes,” he breathed out. Crowley’s hands were gently, creeping beneath his shirt to slowly pull it up and over his head. Once he was shirtless, Crowley splayed one of his hands over Aziraphale’s heart and leaned in to kiss him. There was no heat, no bite, just the drag of soft, slightly wet lips against his. He hummed with delight, eyes fluttering shut. 

His other hand came up to rest against Aziraphale’s throat. It was a light touch, his palm pressing the leather of his collar into his neck. It wasn’t threatening. Crowley’s hand was just  _ there _ , applying pressure, the tips of his longest fingers stroking against Aziraphale’s pulse. 

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. As if Crowley sensed the tension, he eased back from the kiss and brushed their noses together. “There’s no plan, angel,” Crowley admitted. “I just find you to be intoxicating.” 

“Ah,” Aziraphale laughed as nerves bubbled up in his stomach. “I’m - I’m hardly that, my dear.” 

Crowley growled softly and pressed a kiss to the hinge of Aziraphale’s jaw on the opposite side of where his hand lay against his neck. He continued to stroke lightly at Aziraphale’s pulse as his mouth trailed down his neck, alternating between light kisses and the press of tongue and lips with the intention to mark. 

He did it all the way down to the still sensitive spot where Aziraphale had been bitten not once, but twice the previous day. His claiming mark. Crowley’s lips brushed it, the wound still fresh. Aziraphale expected it to burn when he touched it but what he felt instead was a sensation that drove shivers down his spine and raised goosebumps on his skin. “ _ Oh _ ,” he gasped. 

“What?” Crowley lifted his head and looked concerned, brow furrowed. “Did I hurt you?” 

“Quite the opposite,” Aziraphale answered, unable to resist another shiver. Crowley looked at him curiously and then dipped his head back down to press a firmer kiss to the marks, which sent another spike of shivering sensation down Aziraphale’s back. He whimpered and tilted his head instinctively away, creating more space for Crowley to work. 

Crowley’s devilish tongue slipped out to touch the marred skin and Aziraphale choked back a surprised noise. 

“C-Crowley,” he shook his head, reaching up to gently push him away. “No more, no more. Please.” 

“What does it feel like, angel?” Crowley asked and then pressed a kiss beneath his ear, his hands sliding to rest comfortingly on Aziraphale’s hips. It gave Aziraphale a chance to breathe.

“Overwhelming.” It was the only word that came to mind. “Good, but as if I’m overstimulated. I don’t know how else to describe it.” 

Crowley reached up to touch it with just the tips of his fingers and Aziraphale shivered again with another whimper. He couldn’t help but push his hips against Crowley’s thigh, which Crowley in return situated more firmly between his legs. 

“Interesting,” Crowley whispered into his ear as he nibbled along the shell in time with another press of his fingers. Aziraphale realized he was hard and desperate as another wave of chilling pleasure washed over him. He pressed forward and buried his face in the curve of Crowley’s neck, not entirely sure what to think about what was happening except it was  _ good _ and he was  _ safe _ and something was very, very different about this last round of claiming than the first. 

He breathed in deeply and was comforted by the familiar wash of ginger and citrus and incense. 

Then Crowley touched him again and he bit down on the skin beneath his mouth, a whine muffled into it. 

“Mine,” Crowley hummed. His hand slid down along Aziraphale’s spine and then to his rear, encouraging his hips forward again. “I’m going to kiss your mark again, Aziraphale,” he warned. “I want you to give in.” 

Aziraphale shuddered and pressed a kiss to the spot he’d bitten. This scenario felt precarious and he trembled. 

“Only if you want to consent, angel,” Crowley reminded him very gently, kissing a non-sensitive spot on his neck. “I won’t if you don’t actually want it.” 

Oh, but he did, didn’t he. He wanted that overwhelming sensation. He wanted to give in to trust and allow Crowley to take him over the edge with this newfound delight. He didn’t want to admit it, but somehow Crowley knew. Aziraphale whined and lifted his head, nuzzling against Crowley’s cheek. 

“I consent, but I want to pretend that I don’t,” he whispered shyly. It was a strange juxtaposition, to get a chance to be the one in control of something where he got to pretend to not be. 

“I’m going to take you over the edge angel, whether you like it or not,” Crowley murmured, even as he hesitated for a moment. “And you’re going to behave and be good for me, and you’ll come in your trousers against my thigh and it will make me very happy.” 

Aziraphale lifted his hands to Crowley’s shoulders, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. He took a few deep breaths as Crowley nuzzled his jaw and kissed down his neck. The leather collar he wore was warm and comfortable against his skin as Crowley kissed above it and below it. 

“You wear my collar so well, angel,” Crowley whispered against his skin, breath hot. “But you wear my mark better.” Without any further warning he pressed an open mouthed kiss to the two overlapping bite marks and Aziraphale cried out in surprise. 

“Crowley please, stop,” he whined and squirmed but didn’t pull away. Instead, he rutted against Crowley’s thigh and allowed the pleasure of it to overwhelm him. As Crowley’s tongue laved at the mark, Aziraphale’s mind slipped out of his body. His eyes were shut tightly as his body trembled, then became distant. He realized his very  _ essence _ trembled, surrounded by gentle, shimmering darkness. 

It was  _ Crowley _ . He bumped his light against Crowley’s darkness, like a cat might rub up against an offered hand. In return, Crowley’s darkness, which formed into the likeness of the demon, brushed back ethereal hair from his eyes and kissed his forehead. Aziraphale’s entire being shivered, trembled, the atoms around them vibrating with it. 

It was a surreal experience as their true beings danced together, flashes of light and swirls of darkness and then suddenly a different blinding light. Aziraphale lost track of where he was, both in the ether and in his body, and there were  _ wings _ . White and gold feathers - his! - shimmering in the ether and melding with Crowley’s own starlit wings. 

He came back into his corporation with a shuddering gasp as Crowley whispered soft, soothing nothings into his ear. The world as it was fell back into place and he realized his trousers were uncomfortably damp and his body shook with the exertion of his orgasm. 

“I’m right here angel,” Crowley whispered into his ear, their cheeks pressed together. One of Crowley’s hands rested against the back of Aziraphale’s head, petting gently as Aziraphale continued to cling to him. “I’m here. You’re mine. I’ve got you. That was beautiful. You were beautiful.” 

Aziraphale finally glanced over and realized with surprise that his wings were out. Familiar white feathers were wrapped around them both, though Crowley’s were nowhere to be seen. 

“You’re not supposed to be able to summon your wings, you know,” Crowley pointed out as he pressed a kiss below Aziraphale’s ear. “The collar is supposed to prevent it.” 

Aziraphale couldn’t form words. Instead, he let his forehead fall forward against Crowley’s shoulder and just huffed. Crowley laughed softly. “C’mon angel, put them away and let’s get you cleaned up.” 

That much he could do. With a thought, his wings vanished back to where they belonged and he wrapped his arms around Crowley. Crowley’s own arms went around his waist and playfully, he lifted him off the ground and began to walk them awkwardly toward the bathroom. Aziraphale laughed and clung tighter. 

“You’re ridiculous!” He exclaimed, his feet touching the ground again. 

“Ah, he speaks,” Crowley teased and leaned in to kiss him. 

“That was…” Aziraphale sighed. There weren’t words to describe it. 

“Good?” Crowley asked. 

“Very good,” Aziraphale assured him. “More than good. I’m a little scared to ask  _ what _ it was.” 

“Then don’t,” Crowley replied. “Now get into the bathroom.” 

Aziraphale cleaned himself up, his trousers and underwear ruined for the evening. Crowley brought him a pair of briefs but nothing else and he gave him a skeptical look. 

“Crowley,” he said disapprovingly. Crowley, who had also stripped down to nothing but his boxers, shrugged and offered him an impish grin. 

“Come to bed, angel,” he said. “The briefs are optional.” Then, without letting Aziraphale respond, he turned on his heel and left the bathroom. Rolling his eyes, Aziraphale pulled on the briefs and followed, allowing Crowley to tug him into bed and into his arms. 

Buried beneath the blankets, Aziraphale got to be the little spoon as Crowley curled around him possessively. They lay in the dark for a while and Aziraphale took the time to settle back into his corporation. It was always a strange experience, compressing himself back to fit into a human body. He missed the freedom, the wings, the blending of his and Crowley’s true selves. 

“Tomorrow we’ll go see Beelzebub,” Crowley murmured, brushing a kiss to Aziraphale’s ear. “And I’ll have some other errands to run.” 

“Right,” Aziraphale answered, hopeful that Beelzebub would be open to this new arrangement. They needed Crowley on their side for this to work and he’d achieved that so far. “I should check on my suit.” 

“Yes, you’ll want to. It’ll be what you wear on Earth.” 

“I never thanked you for getting me a suit,” Aziraphale pointed out. “I was very touched when I realized you were having one made for me.” 

“Eh,” Crowley squeezed him around the middle. “You seemed like a suit kind of fellow. Took one look at you and thought ‘yup, that one needs a suit with a waistcoat and everything’. Glad I was right.” 

Perhaps some of the old Crowley had bled over. Aziraphale thought it was all so strange…

He realized he’d closed his eyes and began to drift when Crowley said something he obviously missed. “Mm?” 

“Nothing, angel. Go to sleep,” Crowley replied, amusement in his tone. “I’ve exhausted you.” 

He didn’t need to be told twice. He allowed his mind to slip into familiar darkness, even as he chased the strands of what he thought he’d heard Crowley say. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Tuesday & Friday! 
> 
> You can come hang out with me on [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels).


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley talk to Beelzebub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all continue to amaze and touch me with all your lovely comments and thoughts! As always, I appreciate any and all feedback and love talking with everyone about this story. This author's note is short because I've got a crazy cold and haven't been able to take off work because we've been prepping for an event happening today. Once it is over I plan to sleep for a solid 12 hours. Colds are the worst!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this one.

_ Aziraphale dreamed he was in the bookshop, runes drawn on the floor in chalk. He knew he needed to speak to Her. If he could reach Her, She’d stop it, all of it. Humanity would be saved and the misunderstandings would be cleared up.  _

_ There was no way the Plan could be to end it all.  _

_ When he tried to put the call through to God via the Metatron, he was sorely disappointed. The old withered face of the voice of God insisted that it was the authority and the war would happen. He refused to believe it.  _

_“I want to speak to Her,” he hissed, rage boiling over from somewhere deep within him. Aziraphale refused to believe She’d_ _abandoned them. _

_ The Metatron looked poised to reply when the world tilted and Aziraphale lost his footing, tumbling toward a bookshelf. Instead of crashing into wood and books, reality dissolved into darkness. He floated in an abyss of black, tumbling head over heels as he flailed and tried to find some sort of purchase.  _

_ Flashes of light smeared across the vast darkness around him, fuzzy at the edges.  _ Static _ , he realized as he was able to right himself, his feet finding purchase on some sort of stable ground. All around him was static like the sort from a television, the sound piercing the silence and driving him to cover his ears.  _

_ “We need You!” He called out into the mess of snow, his vision crossing before he closed his eyes. “This all needs to be made right.”  _

_ There was no response.  _

_ “Please,” he pleaded, listening for any sound. “I want to fix this.”  _

You will_, a voice whispered in his mind before it was consumed by the din of static. _

He woke with a start, a warm hand smoothing back his hair. “Shh, angel. It was a nightmare.” 

Crowley. Was he back in the bookshop? His eyes blinked open and no, he remembered, he was in Hell. He shook, clammy and sweating. 

“Shh,” Crowley hushed again, cupping his face in both hands. He leaned in and kissed his forehead. “You’re here now, with me, you’re alright.” 

Except he wasn’t. It was all wrong. He tried to reconstruct the dream but all he saw was static. Crowley pressed their foreheads together and Aziraphale reached out to hug him. Crowley gladly brought him closer as his breathing slowly returned to normal. 

“Do you remember it?” Crowley asked, petting Aziraphale’s hair. 

“Not really,” he said, running one of his hands up and down Crowley’s back. “What time is it?” 

“Mm. Too early to be awake,” Crowley murmured. “We still have a couple hours to rest.” 

“I woke you.” 

“Yes,” Crowley gently rubbed his scalp. “You were whimpering and squirming. You sounded upset.” 

“Mm.” He tucked his head up under Crowley’s chin and pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat. He had been upset and was still unsettled. 

“Think you can sleep?” Crowley asked, his hand coming to rest on the back of Aziraphale’s neck in a way that was just a bit proprietary. 

“Yes.” Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered shut. He wanted to rest more in Crowley’s protective embrace. 

“Good.” 

They woke back up a few hours later, Aziraphale first and then Crowley when Aziraphale tried to slip from bed. 

“Angel,” Crowley grumbled as he hooked an arm around his waist and tugged him back. “No.” 

“I was going to go put on coffee,” Aziraphale explained, but allowed himself to be pulled into the embrace. He sighed when Crowley brushed his lips against his claiming mark. It was a less intense sensation than it had been the day before. “We can’t stay here all day again.” 

Crowley buried his face between Aziraphale’s shoulder blades. Aziraphale waited. Finally, Crowley’s grip on him eased and he slipped away, the demon sitting up once Aziraphale was on his feet. He looked an absolute mess, his hair sticking up in all directions, cheek red from where it had been pressed against the pillow. 

Crowley looked cute. Endearing. Exactly what Aziraphale always dreamed he’d look like after a night together. He smiled a little and Crowley peered at him and then raised his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Like what you see?” He asked. 

“Just thinking about how your hair resembles a rooster right now, dear,” Aziraphale replied with a smirk as he yanked a shirt off the floor and pulled it over his head. He didn’t bother with trousers as he dodged out of the way of a tossed pillow and hurried into the kitchen. 

Aziraphale went through the routine of putting on coffee and starting the kettle for tea as he thought about what lay ahead of him. He needed to meet with Beelzebub to bring Crowley into their plans and could only hope it would go well. A lot had occurred and it left his mind buzzing with nerves as he stared at the kettle. 

Strong arms wrapped around him from behind and pulled him back against a skinny chest. He went willingly, closing his eyes as Crowley nuzzled at his cheek. Things between them seemed so easy, so relaxed. It was a shift from the previous nervous regard Crowley always carried with him, even when he was exerting control. 

“You’ve been slacking on putting the coffee on the night before,” Crowley teased as he brushed a kiss to his temple. 

“Well, I’ve been a bit preoccupied,” Aziraphale answered primly. 

“Have you? I wouldn’t know.” Crowley’s lips quirked into a smile against his neck as he kissed it. 

The kettle finished boiling and Aziraphale leaned his head back to meet Crowley’s gaze. “You’re incorrigible.” 

“Demon, comes with the territory,” Crowley replied with a grin as he pecked Aziraphale on the lips and then let him go, moving to the coffee maker. They danced around each other in the kitchen, Aziraphale preparing tea while Crowley made coffee, and then Aziraphale made them both oatmeal which Crowley thanked him for. 

They got ready for the day and despite the trepidation lurking beneath the surface in anticipation of their meeting with Beelzebub, Aziraphale found himself quite at peace. He dressed in Crowley’s colors and lingered in the library, looking over books while he waited for Crowley to join him. 

He startled when he turned and found Crowley in the doorway, golden yellow eyes trained on him. “Oh, how long have you been there?” 

“A few minutes,” Crowley answered as he stepped into the room. For a moment, Aziraphale had the feeling he was  _ prey _ and Crowley was the predator as he prowled closer. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale swallowed down his nerves as he was crowded against the bookcase. 

Crowley leaned in and stole a kiss, then another, his hands sliding up into Aziraphale’s hair as he held him in place. Aziraphale reached out and curled his fingers in Crowley’s jacket, opening his mouth beneath an inquisitive tongue, groaning. 

“You looked so beautiful,” Crowley whispered against his lips. “My colors, my collar, my  _ mark _ .” He kissed Aziraphale again and he was helpless to it, his mind turning to mush as he slid one of his hands up to rest against the side of Crowley’s face. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed out, tugging Crowley closer, comforted by his warmth and his presence and above all else, his scent. 

“And the books,” Crowley continued as if he hadn’t just kissed Aziraphale stupid. “You look at them so adoringly you practically glow with it.” 

That made Aziraphale blush. “You have a lovely collection.” 

Crowley laughed and then dove back in for another kiss, pressing up flush against Aziraphale. “I could have you right here against the books,” he murmured. “We’d probably knock a few off the shelves.” 

“We have a meeting we need to get to,” Aziraphale reminded him gently, despite the way his body responded. For the first time in his long existence he had unfettered access to  _ Crowley _ . And this version of him seemed at least a little closer to the one he knew as they’d grown closer. 

“Ngk, Beelzebub,” Crowley sighed and leaned his forehead against Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale reached up to run his fingers through his hair. “And however tempting it is to have you ravish me yet again, I’m afraid I don’t quite have your endurance.” 

At that, Crowley relaxed and tilted his head to brush a kiss to Aziraphale’s neck. “Alright, alright. You’ve convinced me.” 

They reluctantly broke apart and tidied up before heading out into the Halls. Aziraphale had gotten his bearings but still dutifully followed Crowley. As they walked he noticed stares and glances in greater number than before. One demon actually stopped, his angel slave so focused on the floor that they crashed into their master and were sharply chastised. 

It made Aziraphale’s skin crawl and he resisted the urge to reach out for Crowley’s hand. He didn’t like the eyes on him or the eyes that appeared to be on Crowley. 

“Master,” he said softly and Crowley paused and turned to him. “People are staring.” 

“I’ve noticed,” Crowley replied quietly. “It is alright, angel. Come on.” 

Hardly reassured, Aziraphale continued to trail after Crowley. Soon enough they arrived in front of Beelzebub’s familiar office door and stepped inside. 

“Hello there,” Crowley greeted. “I need a meeting with the Prince.” 

The secretary glanced up from her phone and raised a brow. “Back again? So soon? And still with no appointment? I could offer you a set appointment in about fifty years now if you’d like.” 

Aziraphale stared at Crowley’s back and watched his shoulders tense, then relax. 

“Look, I can assure you the Prince will want to see me. I’m sure they can work me in if you just go ask,” Crowley insisted. 

“Mm, no, and look at that, appointments are filling up quickly.” Aziraphale watched, amused, as the demon pretended to check a book on the desk and just idly flipped pages. 

“Listen here,” Crowley began, but Aziraphale finally came around and offered the secretary his best smile. 

“Hello my dear,” he began and she glanced over at him and tilted her head. “I believe I’ve got a standing appointment with the Prince.” 

She sighed. “ _ You _ do, yes.” Then she glanced back at Crowley. “He doesn’t.” 

“Yes well, I’m afraid he’s my master and therefore I’m stuck with him. Is there a chance we could work something out?” 

Finally, she put her phone down. “I’d be happy to help, but the Prince isn’t even in right now. They had some trouble this morning they needed to deal with.” 

“So they’re at their place?” Crowley asked and Aziraphale frowned. 

“I’m not at liberty to say where they are,” the secretary replied curtly. “I can leave a message and let them know you stopped by.” 

“No, no, I think we can take care of this ourselves. C’mon, angel, I know where we need to go.” 

For the first time since meeting Beelzebub’s secretary, Aziraphale watched her pale. 

“You really should wait!” She said, but Crowley was already steering Aziraphale out of the room. “Don’t - shit, it is on your head if you piss them off!” She shouted after them as the door swung shut. 

Aziraphale assumed his trailing position and followed Crowley back down the hall. “Where are we going, sir?” 

“To Beelzebub’s place,” Crowley replied, sounding rather chipper. 

“Ah.” Aziraphale had a bad feeling about it. 

As they approached what Aziraphale assumed was Beelzebub’s home, there was the sound of raised voices through the door. They were muffled, but he hesitated. 

“Perhaps we ought to come back,” he suggested, now that they were alone in the hallway. It seemed the closer to residences they were, the fewer demons were around. 

“Nope,” Crowley answered as he walked right up to the door and knocked. Aziraphale grimaced. He thought he heard a distinct ‘don’t’ from Beelzebub before the door swung open. It revealed Gabriel, dressed in a black tunic embroidered with silver flies leaving trails along the sleeves and hems. He had a forced smile on his face, violet eyes trained on Crowley. 

“Hello and greetings, welcome to the home of Prince Beelzebub how can I help you?” Gabriel bit out and just beyond him, Aziraphale saw Beelzebub put their hands over their face and thought he heard a groan. 

“Oh, Aziraphale,” Gabriel’s attention turned to him and he, naturally, shrank away from it. “Look at you, marked up and everything by a Master. That must be nice, to be put in your place.” 

“Gabriel!” Beelzebub snapped but Gabriel ignored them. 

“Does he use you as an actual slave? Does he give you a reason to be miserable? They won’t,” he motioned behind him. “They refuse. I just have to sit here and be miserable for the sake of it. You know, glory in suffering and all that I suppose.” 

Aziraphale didn’t answer. 

“You probably just roll over and take it though, huh?” Gabriel continued. “You’ve always been a bit soft.” 

Crowley stepped between Gabriel and Aziraphale, breaking his line of sight and Aziraphale was grateful. 

“Beelzebub, control your pet,” Crowley growled. Aziraphale reached out and laid a hand between his shoulders in an attempt to soothe him. The last thing he needed was for Crowley to pick a fight. 

“Gabriel,” Beelzebub said in a tone that brooked no argument. “Go clean up the dishezz.” 

“There aren’t any dishes, you miracle them all clean,” Gabriel replied, his voice tight. 

“There are now.” Aziraphale peeked out from behind Crowley and found Beelzebub standing in the same spot with their arms crossed over their chest. “Go.” 

“Yes,  _ master _ . My pleasure.” Gabriel bit out the words as he slipped by Beelzebub and in the direction of what Aziraphale presumed to be the kitchen. 

Finally, Beelzebub seemed to actually look at them and their eyes narrowed. “Get  _ in _ here,” they snapped as they crossed the distance and yanked Crowley inside by the front of his shirt. Crowley made a startled noise and Aziraphale followed, confused. He made sure the door shut behind them. 

“Have you been walking around like that?” Beelzebub asked and Aziraphale glanced at Crowley who looked as confused as he felt. 

“Yes? Like what? What’s your problem?” Crowley snapped defensively. 

“These!” Beelzebub reached up and touched his neck. Aziraphale’s eyes followed it and he realized that they were touching the marks he’d made during their coupling. There were a few obvious hickies standing out stark against Crowley’s skin. Then they disappeared, a demonic miracle no doubt, and Aziraphale suppressed a growl. 

“They’re hickies,” Crowley replied, rolling his eyes. “What’s the big deal?” 

“Masters don’t walk around with  _ hickieszz _ , Crowley. They mark their slaves, they are not marked by them.” 

“What if that’s a thing I like?” Crowley asked, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. “My slave does what I like.” 

“Then enjoy it in the privacy of your own home and miracle the marks away afterward, but don’t walk through the halls of Hell marked by a damn angel. You’re already stirring up enough trouble as it is,” they grumbled. “Satan, Crowley, use your damn head.” 

“What do you mean I’m stirring up trouble?” 

Beelzebub frowned and glanced in the direction of the kitchen and the clinking of dishes. “Come on, we should speak privately.” They led them down a hallway and into what appeared to Aziraphale to be a study. Beelzebub sank into a chair behind a desk far smaller than the one in their official office and Aziraphale took a seat in a chair across the desk. Crowley remained standing. 

“So?” Crowley asked as he pretended to be interested in the contents of Beelzebub’s bookshelf. 

“I’m sure you know Hastur and Ligur have never had any love for you,” Beelzebub began. “They have become even more insufferable now that you have been given a slave and they have not.” 

“I’m aware. They tried assaulting him on essentially day one,” Crowley replied sharply. “They need to get over it.” 

“Yeszz, because they’re good at that.” Beelzebub sighed and leaned back in their chair. “They are telling anyone and everyone that you don’t know how to treat a slave, that you’re too kind, too obliging. You’re hardly the only one who isn’t outright cruel, but if enough demons begin to complain or questions your competency, you run the risk of losing him.” 

Aziraphale’s stomach dropped. He drew into himself, suddenly desperate to touch Crowley. He knew crossing the room to do so wouldn’t reflect well on them. Beelzebub glanced at him as if they knew what he was thinking. 

“For now, you’re both fine. But if you start walking around with marks on your neck, Crowley, demons are going to talk. And they’re going to say you don’t know how to control your slave and that makes you, and Aziraphale, a risk. So keep it together. Both of you.” Beelzebub cast another side glance at Aziraphale. It was a knowing look. Aziraphale stared at the floor as his ears turned hot. 

Crowley was silent across the room. Beelzebub cleared their throat. 

“Now,” they continued, “Why are you here?” 

“Crowley is on board,” Aziraphale said, finally looking up. He glanced at Crowley who had his back turned to them.

“Oh?” Silence stretched by, an invitation to continue. 

“I’ve explained the situation to him and he’s agreed to help us rectify it,” Aziraphale fussed with the hem of his tunic. “We need to go to Earth.” 

“Crowley?” 

Crowley turned and frowned. “You were the one who suggested he was having delusions,” he said. “But you believe him?” 

Beelzebub considered this and then nodded. “Yes.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I remember it, too,” Beelzebub replied with a shrug. 

“Why lie to me, then?” Crowley walked over to the desk. 

“You needed to hear it from Aziraphale, not me,” Beelzebub raised their eyebrows. “If he couldn’t convince you, there waszz no way I would be able to.” 

“And why is that?” 

Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Beelzebub glanced at him before answering. 

“Because Aziraphale is the one being who knows you best in this world. I don’t think a buggered timeline changes that.” 

Again, silence fell across the room.

“We won, though,” Crowley pointed out. “Shouldn’t you be happy?” 

“It is  _ boring _ here, Crowley. And to be quite frank I find the enslavement of angels to be a bit over the top. In the beginning we fought for freedom, and now here we are using victory as an excuse to oppresszz. That’s what  _ humans _ do, not us. We should be above that.” Beelzebub frowned. “I would like things to return to the way they were, so I can go back to my day job and not have to deal with how much someone is allowed to abuse an angel.” 

Aziraphale, of course, knew it went deeper than that. But he said nothing, thinking of Gabriel doing dishes in the other room.

Crowley looked skeptical but said nothing more on that topic. “So what’s next, then? How do we fix it?”

“Earth,” Aziraphale said, making eye contact with Beelzebub. “If I had to guess, I’d say Adam is probably at the center of all of this. But I’d like to do some research, see if any of the other players at the end of the world are around and still involved. The book of prophecy I’ve mentioned before might be of some help.” 

“I can mock up paperwork to give you and Aziraphale a reason to be up there,” Beelzebub offered. “But after that you’re both on your own.” 

“Right.” Crowley looked ill at ease. The urge to touch him and comfort him was back, but Aziraphale resisted it. 

“That’s plenty,” Aziraphale assured Beelzebub. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out, one way or another.” 

“It is probably best you go sooner rather than later. It should hopefully cut down on the complaints I get from Hastur and Ligur for a little while.” Beelzebub grabbed a pad of paper and scribbled something down. “I’ll work on it, and ensure the summons is delivered to you within the next couple of days. Until then, the two of you should try to keep out of trouble.” 

“Of course.” Aziraphale rose from his chair. 

“Crowley, would you give us a moment?” 

Aziraphale’s heart sank. He exchanged a nervous look with Crowley who eventually nodded. 

“Sure, right. I”ll be outside, angel.” He reached over and squeezed Aziraphale’s upper arm before he left the room, the door clicking shut behind him. 

“You should be careful Aziraphale,” Beelzebub said and he was surprised at how gentle their tone had become. “He’s not your Crowley.” 

Aziraphale frowned. “But he is, in some ways, isn’t he?” 

“You don’t know him,” Beelzebub insisted. “He’s not the Crowley that lived through six thousand years of fraternizing with you.”

“You don’t know him either,” Aziraphale grumbled. 

“No, but I have access to his files and I know what he’s done.” Beelzebub sighed. “I know it may be too late, and it may be an impossible thing to ask of you, but please try not to let yourself get too wrapped up in him. If all of this works you’ll loszze him anyway.” 

“And if it doesn’t? Then I’m stuck with him for the foreseeable future and I’d rather that be a pleasant thing. You don’t have to submit to claiming, you don’t understand.” Aziraphale wished Crowley were still in the room. He wanted his warmth, his embrace, his scent. 

Beelzebub’s expression softened slightly. “Just take care, Aziraphale.” 

“Of course.” He took a deep breath. “Are we done?” 

“For now. You may go.” Beelzebub motioned to the door. Aziraphale nodded and turned to leave, nearly crashing into Crowley who was just outside the door. Once the door shut Crowley had his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders. He slid them down his arms, hands resting as his elbows as he leaned in and kissed his forehead. 

Aziraphale leaned into it.

“Alright, angel?” Crowley asked and Aziraphale nodded. How was it possible for him to avoid becoming attached? Especially when Crowley touched him so gently, so thoughtfully. He stepped in and put his arms around Crowley’s neck, pulling him into a hug. Crowley returned it. 

It was brief, as Aziraphale was quickly reminded that they were in Beelzebub’s home and had more to do before he could sink into the comfort of Crowley’s arms. Miles to go before they sleep, and all of that. He pulled away. 

“We should pick up your suit,” Crowley suggested. “Then I’ll walk you back to our place and go run the rest of my errands.” 

“Yes, alright.” It seemed like a reasonable course of action. “We ought to get to it, then.” 

They left Beelzebub’s home, Aziraphale resisting the urge to look in on Gabriel. 

**

After they were certain Aziraphale and Crowley had left, Beelzebub slipped from their office and made their way on quiet feet to the kitchen. They leaned in the doorway and watched as Gabriel dried the dishes and put them away. His tunic was short sleeved, his arms visible and strong, and he held his shoulders straight in a self assured posture despite his current circumstances. 

Before he could look up and find them there, Beelzebub retreated back down the hallway and leaned into the jealousy that bubbled up in their chest. It was a demonic thing, jealousy. Being jealous over the loving looks Crowley and Aziraphale shared perhaps a little less so, but no one had to know. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Tuesday & Friday. 
> 
> Looking for something to tide you over until Tuesday? Check out my latest piece, some delicious Crowley-in-a-kilt smut. Light D/s, top Aziraphale. You can read it here: [Original Sin Tartan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21768403). 
> 
> Don't forget, you can come hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr!](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale pick up a suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Tuesday! I love y'all. Thank you for your continued engagement and lovely comments. Sorry I haven't had a chance to really reply to any of them - I was knocked out sick with a bad cold over the weekend. I'm feeling better now, but I want you to know I always read comments as they come in! It is all very exciting. 
> 
> Another HUGE shout out to my beta, Kazeetie, who continues to do awesome work and helps me find all my weird little spelling or punctuation errors.
> 
> **EDIT:** Btw, "Hell's Bell Bottoms" was a name my best friend came up with when I asked her what a tailor in Hell would be called. She's a genius.

Aziraphale followed Crowley to the familiar storefront of Hell’s Bell Bottoms. He held the door open for Crowley who glanced at him with a little smile before he stepped through. Following, he was surprised to see Master Bell attentive and not buried in his books. 

“Ah, Lord Crowley,” he greeted in a rather prim voice. “A pleasure to see you. I assume you’ve come to collect your suit?” 

“Yes,” Crowley replied. “I’d quite like to see it on him first, if you can accommodate.” 

“Accommodate? We  _ insist _ . It is the only way to be certain the suit has been tailored correctly. Nanael!” Master Bell turned toward the back. “Come out here please, we have customers.” 

A moment later Nanael emerged, no less beautiful than when Aziraphale had seen her a few days prior. Instead of a gown, she was dressed in flowing slacks and a blouse, her hair pinned up in a bun. Draped over one arm were bolts of fabric and she had a sewing needle held between her lips. 

She immediately pulled it out to speak. “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry I was doing some work back there. Master Crowley, it is a pleasure to see you. Please, both of you, come to the changing rooms and I’d be happy to get it taken care of.” 

They followed her to the familiar changing rooms and she motioned inside one of them. “Please, wait here while I put some things down and retrieve a few others.” 

Aziraphale glanced at the full length mirror and Crowley came to stand behind him. They had always been a study in opposites, despite Aziraphale wearing Crowley’s colors of black and red. He reached up and touched the claiming mark, the newest ones, the two overlapping bites that seemed so obvious in the bright fitting room lighting. 

“I’d take you right here if I thought it appropriate,” Crowley whispered into his ear before leaning in to kiss his neck. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale chastised quietly, giving him a look. “If you keep speaking like that the suit trousers will never fall correctly.” 

Crowley grinned and looked as if he were about to say something in reply when Nanael returned, delicate eyebrows raised as she took in the scene before her. Aziraphale could only guess how it looked. 

“I hope I’m not interrupting, sir,” she directed toward Crowley as she began to hang up the various items she had on her arm. 

“No, certainly not,” Crowley replied as he stepped away from Aziraphale, still grinning. Aziraphale rolled his eyes. 

“Now, I don’t want you to look until it is all on,” Nanael said, and looked to Crowley. “And you, I’d rather you wait outside if that’s alright? I’d like you to get the full effect.” 

“Sure, sure.” Crowley exchanged a look with Aziraphale before he stepped out and a curtain was pulled closed. That left Aziraphale in the room with Nanael who looked him over. 

“New marks,” she said softly, reaching out to press her fingers to the claim. “These looks quite painful.” 

“They’re not, surprisingly,” Aziraphale admitted. “Perhaps a bit of a sting when they were made but all things considered, not a bother.” It was strange, he thought, how he kept running into beings with no hesitation to touch. He glanced at her neck and saw a fresh mark. 

“It looks like you’ve got one, too,” he pointed out and didn’t miss the slightly pleased smile. 

“Yes. As I said, Master Bell does what needs to be done. He’s been particularly kind lately, this one barely hurt.” She seemed caught up in the memory for a moment before shaking her head. “Come now, let’s get you out of those clothes and into your new suit, hm?” 

Aziraphale allowed her to guide him once more with gentle touches as he was undressed and then redressed, enjoying the slide of high quality fabric. She fussed over the cuffs of his sleeves, then the buttons, helped him into the waistcoat and then the overcoat, and brushed his shoulders. 

When she stepped back she looked over him with a critical eye before making a pleased sound. “Lovely. Master Crowley, would you like a first look?” 

Crowley’s head popped through the curtain and his body followed, a smile breaking out across his face. Aziraphale had his full attention and it made his face hot. 

“I’m afraid it covers up the claiming mark,” Aziraphale pointed out as he tugged a little at the collar. 

“That’s fine,” Crowley replied as he stepped closer. “You smell enough like me it doesn’t matter.” He stopped a few steps short of him and reached out to smooth his hands down his front. “You’re very dashing,” he said quietly. 

“Oh, hardly,” Aziraphale glanced away and fussed with the buttons on his waistcoat. It was a motion he’d dearly missed and one that brought him comfort. 

“Leave us for a moment, Nanael?” Crowley asked without even looking. Aziraphale glanced over his shoulder and saw her smile before she backed out of the room, leaving the curtain closed. 

Crowley kissed him, warm and steady, as he backed him against one of the changing room walls. Aziraphale groaned in surprise and reached up to bury one hand in Crowley’s hair, fingers curling and tugging as Crowley’s tongue pressed into his mouth. They kissed until they were both a bit breathless, Crowley’s forehead resting gently against Aziraphale’s. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Crowley whispered. “Like you were made for suits. I  _ knew _ you’d look good, angel.” 

Aziraphale shivered and brushed their noses together, trying to catch his breath. Crowley’s hands explored, sliding under his coat and against his sides. Then he shifted to press one of his legs between Aziraphale’s and he couldn’t help but press forward, his head falling back against the wall. “ _ Crowley _ ,” Aziraphale murmured. “This is not the place.” 

“I’m paying them enough,” Crowley breathed against his neck before he sucked at his pulse, tongue tempting and clever. “I can do what I’d like.” 

Aziraphale closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath, then opened them and glanced down in surprise as Crowley sank to his knees. 

“Crowley!” He whispered urgently. “What are you doing?” 

“Mm,” Crowley smirked up at him. “I’m about to blow you while you wear that suit.” His hand stroked over the growing bulge in Aziraphale’s trousers. “You’ll need to be quiet, we don’t want to get in trouble.” 

Aziraphale groaned quietly before he pressed his fist to his mouth, his other hand making its home in Crowley’s hair. It seemed the demon took it as the consent it was because he continued to stroke his fingers over Aziraphale’s arousal, applying teasing pressure as Aziraphale’s hips jerked into the touch. 

Finally, Crowley unfastened his trousers and parted the fly, reaching into his briefs to pull his cock out into the open. Aziraphale whimpered and then shivered as cool air hit overheated flesh. Precome had already begun to bead at the tip and Crowley leaned in to casually lick it away. 

“Beautiful, angel,” he praised from his place on the floor. His long, gorgeous fingers stroked over the length of him a couple times before he brought the head into his mouth. Aziraphale groaned helplessly into his hand, trying to choke down on the sounds as Crowley was relentless once he had a taste. His tongue circled the head and pressed against the slit, leaving it slick and wet as he pulled back and blew on it. 

Aziraphale’s whole body twitched, the hand in Crowley’s hair tightening. Crowley seemed to like it because he hummed as he took Aziraphale back into his mouth. He bobbed his head a couple of times, tongue running along the underside of him, teasing, and then Crowley stopped. When Aziraphale met his gaze Crowley was watching him with blown pupils, stilled with his cock halfway in his mouth, lips stretched around it. 

Crowley moved his hands to Aziraphale’s hips and waited. That’s when Aziraphale got the hint. With a soft ‘oh’ that he couldn’t muffle, he resituated the hand on Crowley’s head to a firmer hold and then  _ thrust _ . 

Crowley’s eyes slid closed and he groaned around Aziraphale, so Aziraphale did it again. Crowley’s mouth was wet and hot, his throat accommodating as Aziraphale slid in until his balls hit Crowley’s chin. 

Crowley choked, then, sending a shock of pleasure up through Aziraphale’s spine as he gasped into his hand and bit down on his knuckles. He pulled back and began thrusting in earnest and while he may not have been making loud sounds, it was obvious to anyone in the vicinity what they were doing. There was no hiding the way it sounded every time his spit slicked cock slid into Crowley’s mouth, or the sound of Crowley purposely choking around him. Drool dribbled down Crowley’s chin and he opened his eyes to finally look back up at Aziraphale. 

That’s what did it. With a choked down cry he thrust forward against and came in Crowley’s mouth. The demon, to his credit, worked him through it, gently moving his mouth over him until he was sensitive and whimpering. Then Crowley sat back and licked his lips, smirking. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, gently running his hand through his hair as he fought to catch his breath. 

“The suit was a good idea,” Crowley said as he gently tucked Aziraphale back into his clothes. “You ought to look.” Crowley stood and guided Aziraphale to turn toward the mirror. 

He was a sight, that much was certain. His lips were red, his knuckles redder from where he’d bitten into his skin. His whole face was flushed down to where his neck disappeared beneath a bow tie and collar. He was still panting, struggling to catch his breath, and his eyes looked a little glassy as they peered back at him. 

The suit itself was perfect. It was similar to the one he had lost. It was cream and brown with a velvet waistcoat and very much  _ not _ Crowley’s colors. Yet here they were. 

Crowley wrapped his arms around him from behind and settled his chin on his shoulder. “You look ravished,” he murmured. “I like it.” 

Aziraphale leaned back into him and closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself. 

“Everything alright?” Nanael’s voice called from somewhere beyond the curtain. 

“Quite,” Crowley answered, smirking as he released Aziraphale. “We’ll take it. I think Aziraphale here will get changed and we’ll go from there.” 

“Excellent. Leave the suit on the rack and the curtain open when you’re done. I’ll wrap it all up and bring it out to you.” Aziraphale heard Nanael’s retreating footsteps and then turned to look at Crowley. 

Crowley brushed his fingers over Aziraphale’s cheek and leaned in to steal a chaste kiss. “Come on angel, you heard the lady.” 

Aziraphale undressed and redressed with no fussing from Crowley, thankfully. Only appreciative stares that left Aziraphale more red than he had been. They finished up and headed out to the front where Crowley engaged Master Bell in a conversation that Aziraphale paid little attention to. 

Eventually Nanael emerged holding a suit cover over her arm along with a couple of boxes. She brought them over to the counter. 

“Here’s everything you tried on today, sir,” she said politely. Aziraphale finally wandered over to the counter. 

“Thank you Nanael. I can ring them up.” Master Bell offered her a smile before he turned back to Crowley. “Put it on your tab, hm?” 

“Charge it to my account, yes,” Crowley replied as they devolved into a conversation about finances. 

Aziraphale followed Nanael toward the back and she turned and gave him a curious look. “Everything alright?” 

“Yes, quite. I just...wanted to say, you did a wonderful job on the suit.” He smiled. 

“I’d say so,” she replied with a knowing smile. Aziraphale coughed. 

“Er, ah, yes, well,” he wasn’t sure what to say. 

“It is alright,” Nanael reached out and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad he’s kind to you.” 

“As am I. It has been a pleasure, Nanael. I hope I will see you again soon.” 

“I’m sure you will. I should get back to work. Be well, Aziraphale.” 

“Be well, Nanael,” he replied softly as she disappeared into the back room. He turned and walked back over to Crowley who turned to present him with their purchased items. He gladly accepted them. 

“Off we go then,” Crowley said. “Thanks once more, Bell. Your work is lovely as always.” 

“Indeed.” 

They left the shop, Aziraphale trailing behind Crowley with his purchases. The walk back home seemed less precarious than the walk to Beelzebub’s had. Perhaps it was some mix of Crowley’s lack of marks and Aziraphale’s clear role as servant. Perhaps this far into the day demons were less nosey. Whatever the case, Aziraphale was grateful for an uneventful walk. 

When he stepped inside of Crowley’s home he relaxed, taking his suit to his room. The whole place, he realized, really did smell like Crowley. There were hints of ginger and citrus everywhere. Had they always been there and he hadn’t noticed? He hung up his clothes, taking the dress shirt out of a box and hanging it up as well. 

Crowley’s hands came to rest on his shoulders and Aziraphale did his best not to jump in surprise. The demon could be light on his feet when he wanted to. Apologetically, Crowley dug his thumbs into Aziraphale’s shoulders, massaging the muscles as he leaned in to press a kiss to the side of his head. 

“I’ve got to be off,” he said, fingers still working. Aziraphale’s eyes slid shut. “But I won’t be gone too terribly long.” 

“I’ll think about dinner then,” Aziraphale murmured, leaning back into the touch. Crowley’s fingers seemed to find a knot and began to work it, bordering on painful until the muscles relaxed and there was shivering release. “Ah.” 

“Good?” Crowley asked with a smile in his voice. 

“Mmhm. Keep it up and I don’t think I’ll let you leave.” It was something he might have said to his Crowley, Aziraphale realized, and guilt warred with desire. Suddenly the touches were less comforting. He reached up and stilled one of Crowley’s hands. 

“Angel?” Concern. Aziraphale wished this could all be easier. 

“Don’t let me keep you,” he said quietly as he stepped away. Crowley let him. When he turned, Crowley was wearing a frown. 

He looked as if he wanted to say something but then thought better of it, mouth closing. Instead, he nodded. “Right. Of course.” 

Aziraphale didn’t feel any better when Crowley turned and walked out of the room. He waited until he heard the front door open and close before he left his room. Dinner would be a nice distraction, so he made a cup of tea and grabbed a cookbook, sitting at the table to read. 

Beelzebub’s words echoed in his mind.  _ He’s not your Crowley _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Tuesday & Friday! 
> 
> Come yell at me on [twitter]() and [tumblr](). I'm into it.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley prepare to head to Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, the responses to this story continue to make me the happiest writer. I especially love that some of you are _getting it_ \- picking up on threads and starting to piece them together. I think a few of you will be pleased with this chapter as a few things become just a smidge clearer. This chapter signifies the end of what I'm calling Act I. Next chapter we'll be launching right back into some heavy plot stuff as we slip into Act II. 
> 
> For now, allow me to offer you some smut in these trying times.

By the time Crowley returned for dinner, Aziraphale had managed to package his feelings up. He could care for this Crowley  _ and _ his Crowley. He had to. As long as he could separate them in his mind he was certain he would be fine, so he greeted Crowley with a soft kiss and gentle embrace that seemed to put the demon at ease. 

As the night wound down, Crowley hesitated as he had nights before when they made it down the hallway. 

“Do you…” He swallowed and glanced down the hallway nervously before looking back at Aziraphale. “That is, you’re welcome in my bed. To sleep. If you’d like.” 

There was something utterly vulnerable about the way Crowley said it, as if he expected Aziraphale to push him away. Perhaps he had good reason, since that’s what Aziraphale had essentially done before. But he was pulled, unable to resist falling into Crowley’s orbit, interested and yearning to fall asleep wrapped up in him and buried beneath the blankets. He reached out and hesitantly took Crowley’s hand, watched as a small smile made it onto his lips, and followed him to bed. 

Crowley undressed him chastely, only laying the kindest of kisses against his lips, his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. He helped him into his pajamas and allowed his hands to skim along Aziraphale’s side and up his legs. The touches were reverent, apologetic, as if he wanted to make up for whatever it was that led to the distance before. 

Aziraphale pulled him close once he was clothed and kissed him in a way that was not particularly chaste, shivering when Crowley’s mouth finally found his claim mark. He grazed his teeth over it and the lightning was back, coursing through him and leaving him trembling. Crowley didn’t take him to the edge, didn’t go any further. He just laved his tongue against it until Aziraphale was clinging to him and then took him to bed. 

He settled easily into Crowley’s embrace and even more easily into sleep. 

The next morning Crowley was gone, which wasn’t atypical. His duties continued as they waited for permission to go to Earth. So did Aziraphale’s. He lounged in bed for a while longer, enjoying Crowley’s scent and the lingering warmth beneath the blankets. In his old life he had never been one for sleeping in, but with the collar still sapping his energy he found he enjoyed rest more than he initially believed possible. Perhaps Crowley had a point about sleep all those years. 

When he finally arose he checked the kitchen for a note and found one that Crowley had quickly scribbled, letting him know not to expect him until dinner. He sighed and made tea, drank it and ate breakfast, then set about dressing. 

Once dressed, he made his way down the familiar path to Lenore’s library. The owlish demon answered with a frown that quickly morphed into a shy smile when he realized who it was. 

“Aziraphale, come in,” he motioned him in. 

“I brought back the books and newspapers you let me borrow,” Aziraphale said as he walked inside, turning to hand them off to Lenore once they were in the library. “I’m afraid I might be leaving for a bit soon and I wanted to make sure they made it back to you.” 

“I appreciate that. An angel of your word, I see.” Lenore took them and began to walk toward the stacks. Aziraphale followed him. 

“Are you going to Earth then?” Lenore asked as he began to reshelve the books. “To find the book of prophecy?” 

“Yes, quite.” Aziraphale answered, wishing he could share more. 

“With your mate?” Lenore continued. 

“Sorry?” Aziraphale frowned. 

“Master,” Lenore correctly quickly, casting a side-glance at Aziraphale. “I meant master, my apologies. Slip of the tongue.” He continued to reshelve the books. 

Aziraphale wasn’t sure that was actually the case. “Lenore…” 

“I believe I’m stuck thinking about better times, Aziraphale,” Lenore said and sounded apologetic. “I meant your master, Crowley.” 

“Then yes, I will be going with him. He’s the only reason I’d be allowed to. Apparently he feels he has enough good will with Adam to allow us free passage.” 

Lenore finished putting away his books and walked over to put the newspapers away. “I see. Well, as I’ve said, if you find that book I would thoroughly enjoy taking a look at it.” 

“Of course.” Aziraphale hesitated, because he knew if his plan worked he likely wouldn’t be back in Hell again. “I wanted to say Lenore that it has been a delight being able to come visit you.” 

Lenore looked at him, brow furrowed, large eyes suddenly sorrowful. “You say that as if I won’t see you again.” 

“Oh, no. No no, certainly not. I didn’t intend it that way I just, well, you never know what might happen up top and I didn’t want to go up there without thanking you.” He offered him a reassuring smile that was met with mild suspicion and narrowed eyes. 

“You won’t do anything reckless,” Lenore insisted. “I enjoy our time together far too much and you have a lot to teach me about bookbinding and restoration.” 

“Of course not. I’ll take good care, Lenore.” Aziraphale watched Lenore’s suspicion ease. 

“Well, you can thank me properly by spending some time with me today. I’ve got a whole section of Bibles I think you’d be interested in…” 

Aziraphale spent the majority of the day with Lenore discussing literature. He startled him with a hug before he left, Lenore murmuring into his ear to be careful on Earth before he pulled away. 

As he made his way through the halls, his shoulder connected with a demon’s and he went sprawling to the ground. He cried out in surprise and a bit of pain as he landed on his shoulder. The demon in question stopped, turned, and bared a familiar set of rotting teeth. 

“Funny running into you here angel shit,” Langathar growled as he took a few steps forward. Aziraphale didn’t dare rise from his position on the floor, Beelzebub’s warnings running through his mind. He averted his gaze and bowed his head. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said quietly. The words tasted sour. He wanted to smite him, not apologize to him.

Langathar laughed, low and dark. “Oh yeah? You’re sorry? At least your master seems to have finally taught you some fuckin’ manners you piece of shit. Hasn’t taught you how to get out of the way of your superiors though, it seems.” 

Aziraphale kept his gaze averted. He wasn’t sure what else there was to say. But Langathar wasn’t done, a meaty fist grabbing the front of Aziraphale’s tunic and hauling him to his feet and far closer to the demon than he wanted to be. 

“Maybe you need some retraining,” he growled into Aziraphale’s ear. “A reminder of where your place is.” 

It was difficult to stay silent, but he did. He kept his eyes on the ground. Langathar sneered. “Get out of my sight.” He shoved Aziraphale away and turned to storm off. Aziraphale turned too, desperate to get home, even more desperate to hide his trembling. 

His fear eased when he got inside the door of Crowley’s home. He leaned against it and closed his eyes, listening, absorbing the quiet calm around him. Toeing off his shoes he proceeded into the kitchen and immediately made for the kettle. A miracle was on the tips of his fingers but he remembered the pain and put his hand down. He waited for the water to boil impatiently, his hands trembling. 

Langathar’s hands on him and his low, dark snarl reminded him too much of Ligur and Hastur. It reminded him, too, of his first claiming. Of Crowley growling into his ear. He took a few stuttering breaths and found it difficult, panic rising. He just needed to behave for a couple more days until he and Crowley got to Earth. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about putting either of them at risk. 

He didn’t want to even think about what it meant to be retrained. He thought of the pitiful cry he’d heard the first time he went to Langthar’s office and shuddered. 

“Angel?” Crowley’s voice came from behind him and Aziraphale closed his eyes, tears trickling down his cheeks. His shoulders trembled and the kettle began to boil but he was temporarily overwhelmed. “May I touch you?” 

Aziraphale nodded. Crowley guided him into his arms, into an embrace, and Aziraphale buried his face in his shoulder and wrapped his arms around him. 

“Shh, angel, you’re safe.” Crowley whispered to him, bringing a hand up to pet his curls. Then he lowered his head and pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s claiming mark and Aziraphale could breathe again. His grip on Crowley’s jacket loosened as he tilted his head and nosed up under Crowley’s jaw. 

Crowley continued to kiss the mark, gently worrying the skin as warm comfort crept through Aziraphale’s body. 

“Good,” Crowley murmured as he kissed up the side of his neck and then rested his cheek against the top of his head. 

“What just happened?” Aziraphale asked, breathing Crowley in. 

“Hm?” 

Aziraphale shook his head. “Nothing. Nevermind.” Something about the peace he felt seemed so strange, but comforting. Like he’d been wrapped in a blanket, when it was just Crowley’s arms around him. 

“What made you panic?” Crowley asked, voice quiet. 

“I ran into Langathar in the hallway,” Aziraphale admitted. “He was a bit rough.” 

Crowley’s chest rumbled with a soft growl as his arms tightened around Aziraphale. “And?” 

“I stayed silent and averted my eyes and he didn’t slap me this time.” Aziraphale sighed. “Progress, I suppose.” 

“I’ll deal with him when we get back,” Crowley grumbled. “He shouldn’t touch what’s mine.” 

_ If we come back _ , Aziraphale thought but then tucked it away. He needn’t worry about it. “Any word from Beelzebub?” 

“Yes. The paperwork was sent this afternoon. I am being sent to write up a report on the current state of Earth before the Horsemen are allowed to make their next move. It also gives me permission to bring you to assist.” He brushed a kiss to Aziraphale’s temple. “We can leave as early as tomorrow, assuming you don’t have any other business.” 

“No, I think not. I paid a visit to Lenore today and I believe that’s wrapped up. I’m ready when you are.” 

“Right.” Crowley leaned his head down onto Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Best not to have high expectations, angel,” he said quietly. “Earth is likely not at all what you remember it to be.” 

“I imagine not.” He reached up to pet the back of Crowley’s head, fingers lingering, stroking against his scalp. 

“Did you want tea?” Crowley asked as he pulled away, but kept Aziraphale encircled in his arms. “The kettle is boiling. Sit, I’ll make it.” 

For once, Aziraphale didn’t protest. He walked over to the table and took a seat, watching as Crowley prepared two mugs of tea. They sat in a comforting quiet, their feet brushing beneath the table. Aziraphale thought about Lenore’s slip up earlier and glanced at Crowley, wondering.  _ Mates _ . He reached up to touch his claiming mark. 

“Alright?” Crowley asked, the motion catching his attention. 

“Yes, quite,” Aziraphale replied, pressing his fingers to the raised flesh that was slowly healing. It didn’t feel like anything when he touched it, except for the familiar ache of a wound. Yet when Crowley had kissed it not fifteen minutes earlier the very act had been soothing, like Crowley was sharing his calm. 

He reached out for Crowley’s hand, even when it resulted in a confused look from the demon. Aziraphale laced their fingers together. 

“Whatever happens on Earth,” Aziraphale said softly, “you’ll be by my side, yes?” 

“Yes,” Crowley said without hesitation and then seemed perturbed at how quickly he’d agreed. He made no move to take his words back, though. He squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. 

“Take me to bed, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “Please?” 

There was uncertainty in Crowley’s eyes, like he couldn’t figure out where the request was coming from. But Aziraphale wanted him. He wanted the comfort of familiar arms around him, of a gentle mouth. He wanted to carry that comfort on to the next part of the journey, whatever it might bring. And, a very small part of him possessively wanted Crowley  _ closer _ . 

“We haven’t had dinner,” Crowley replied, even as he appeared to have a difficult time looking away. 

“We’ll have it after,” Aziraphale insisted, but remained seated. He wanted Crowley to lead. 

“Right.” Crowley stood and tugged Aziraphale to his feet. “Come to bed, angel.” 

Aziraphale shivered and Crowley pulled him closer, close enough to brush their lips together. Then he used their joined hands to pull Aziraphale down the hallway. Once in the bedroom, the door shut, he snapped and candles flickered to life. Their light was warm and comforting as Crowley drew Aziraphale into his arms and reached up to brush his knuckles against his cheek. 

“Hello,” he whispered. 

“Hello,” Aziraphale replied as he rested his hands against Crowley’s chest, feeling out his heartbeat. He slid his hands up to push his jacket off and Crowley obliged him, moving his arms so Aziraphale could push it to the ground. Once it was gone, Crowley returned one hand to Aziraphale’s face, the other coming to rest on his hip as he leaned in and kissed him. 

They kissed as Aziraphale’s fingers sought out the buttons on Crowley’s shirt, undoing them one by one as their lips brushed and Crowley’s tongue ran across his lower lip. Aziraphale opened his mouth willingly, their tongues touching, Crowley nipping his playfully as Aziraphale brushed his fingers against Crowley’s newly bared chest. 

Aziraphale broke the kiss and nuzzled Crowley’s jaw, fingers working on the last of the buttons. He was grateful Crowley wasn’t wearing an undershirt because it meant he could drag his fingers over his taut stomach, enjoying the way the muscles twitched and Crowley shivered. 

“Angel,” Crowley murmured, kissing Aziraphale’s temple, then his ear. 

“My dear,” Aziraphale replied as he dipped his head and took a taste of the skin on Crowley’s neck, right at his pulse. Then he nipped and Crowley growled, pleased. 

“If you leave a mark,” Crowley said, “I’ll just remove it in the morning.” 

Aziraphale bit down harder now that he had been given permission and enjoyed the way Crowley’s hand gripped at his tunic. 

“Yes, Aziraphale,” Crowley groaned as Aziraphale sucked at the spot and then moved down Crowley’s neck. He busied himself at the hollow of Crowley’s throat, his hands sliding beneath his shirt and following along his spine, palms flat, fingers splayed. 

“Wings,” Crowley whispered. “Let me see your wings, Aziraphale. Can you bring them out?” 

That brought Aziraphale pause. He hadn’t tried, not since that time when Crowley sent him over the edge by touching his mark. His hands stilled on Crowley’s back as he pressed his forehead to his shoulder and tried to call them from the ethereal plane. 

There was a sharp intake of breath and a familiar weight at his back that told him it worked. He tilted his head and found both of them half surrounded by familiar white wings. 

Crowley reached a hand up and then paused. “May I?” 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Aziraphale murmured emphatically, itching for it. Crowley carded his fingers through the feathers ever-so-gently. How long had it been since another had touched his wings? It didn’t bear thinking about as he shuddered and his wings twitched. Crowley’s hands were thoughtful and kind, carefully fixing primaries and ruffling coverts. It was a pause, a moment of quiet intimacy as Aziraphale kept his head pressed into Crowley’s shoulder, breathing him in. 

“When was the last time you were groomed?” Crowley asked as a feather came loose and Aziraphale winced with it. 

“A long while.” 

Crowley sighed, tense for a moment. Aziraphale tilted his head to peer at him with one eye. 

“And I didn’t offer? The other me?  _ Your _ me?” He asked quietly, his own gaze focused on Aziraphale’s wing. The candlelight flickered across Crowley’s face, highlighting his sharp features and his bright eyes. 

“It is complicated. I never asked.” He’d be lying if he hadn’t thought about it, but there hadn’t been time. The world had been saved just in time for whatever he faced now to drag him away. 

“Hm.” Crowley didn’t sound impressed as he continued his work. Aziraphale huffed. 

“You’re supposed to be taking me to bed,” he pointed out, trying not to sound too terribly petulant. Crowley side eyed him. 

“Am I now?” He asked, hands leaving Aziraphale’s feathers to rest against his back, right where his wings met his shoulder blades “And here I thought grooming was a nice precursor to all that.” 

“It  _ is _ ,” Aziraphale admitted as he pushed himself up against Crowley, nuzzling up under his jaw. He caught a snap of fingers in his peripheral vision and his tunic was gone, skin pressed to skin. Aziraphale’s wings came down and around them like a curtain, hiding them away from the world. With a startled noise, Crowley lifted him with an arm around his back and laid Aziraphale back on the bed, wings spread out to either side of him. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured as he pulled him down for a warm kiss, carding his hands through Crowley’s hair. The demon lined their bodies up, pressing their hips together, one of his hands finding Aziraphale’s feathers again. This time, instead of grooming, he just stroked them, fingers following the line of long secondaries, sometimes digging in with a well timed roll of his hips. 

“I’m going to take your collar off,” Crowley whispered against his lips, breath warm and wet. 

“What?” That startled Aziraphale out of the comfortable state he’d slipped into. He looked at Crowley, confused. 

“I told you before, no miracles even without it. But I - I want…ngk.” Crowley pressed his forehead to Aziraphale’s shoulder to compose himself and try again. “I want to bite your neck. All of it.” 

Aziraphale whimpered and tried to take a few steadying breaths himself. “Crowley?” 

Finally, Crowley lifted his head and looked at him. His face was heavy with shame. “Sorry, angel, that was - I shouldn’t. I can’t explain it.” 

“I don’t mind.” He didn’t. He realized how his whimper could be misinterpreted but hearing the words had send heat searing through his chest down between his legs. “Just don’t hurt me, please.” 

“Never, angel,” Crowley answered quickly. “Never again. I promise. I swear.” He kissed him, a series of short but warm reassurances against Aziraphale’s mouth. Distracted, he barely noticed it when the collar was unbuckled and slipped from his neck. It was strange after all this time to be without its comforting weight. 

Crowley sat back as his eyes roamed over the unmarked parts of Aziraphale’s neck. Then he leaned in to press a kiss to his claim mark. 

“ _ Oh _ ,” Aziraphale inhaled sharply as white hot electricity flowed through him in the best way. He could see the shadow of Crowley’s true form, sparkling in the dark, so warm and inviting. He keened and bucked up even as one of Crowley’s hands held him down. Then Crowley’s mouth moved to his unmarred throat, kissing the sensitive skin, skimming the sharp points of his canines against it, causing shivers to run down Aziraphale’s spine and soft sounds to fall from his lips. 

Crowley bit down and sucked on the sensitive skin of his throat, marking him again, and then moved to another spot and did it a second time. Aziraphale exhaled shakily, a hand finding Crowley’s hair again and twisting, tugging, anything to try and balance the sensations that came with Crowley’s intensely direct attention. 

Crowley finally kissed up to his pulse, then his jaw, and nibbled his earlobe. Aziraphale turned his head to press a kiss to the corner of Crowley’s mouth and he tilted his head back in turn so they could kiss. Aziraphale’s mouth opened, welcoming and warm as Crowley licked into it and finally ground their hips together again. 

He was hard and Aziraphale’s own arousal matched it. There was heat between them, an intoxicating warmth that drew him further in. Crowley’s mouth left his, sliding down his neck again, brushing his claim mark and sending tingles across his skin. He didn’t linger, moving his mouth to Aziraphale’s collarbone, kissing and licking, following the little ridges and dips. 

Then his hot mouth dipped down to take one of his nipples into it and Aziraphale cried out, still gripping Crowley’s hair with one hand, the blankets and sheets with the other. Each touch of tongue to the sensitive patch of skin made him buck against Crowley’s unyielding hips as the demon moved from one peaked nipple to the other, grazing his teeth across it. 

Aziraphale panted, his head pressed back into the pillows. Crowley dragged the flat of his palm along Aziraphale’s side, spreading warmth wherever he touched, mouth soon trailing down his stomach. Aziraphale squirmed, no longer able to keep his grip on Crowley’s hair. He reached up to grab onto the pillow instead, shuddering as Crowley’s tongue teased into his belly button. 

“Crowley!” He hissed, the sensation strange. Crowley smiled against his stomach, nosing and kissing down to his hip where he bit and sucked, right over what Aziraphale knew to be a still-fading clawmark from their first time. The hand sliding down his side came to rest on the clothed bulge between his legs and Crowley rubbed him, massaging him through the fabric as Aziraphale bucked and whined. His wings twitched. 

Looking pleased, Crowley leaned back on his haunches and peered up at Aziraphale. He seemed to make a decision and reached up to undo Aziraphale’s trousers, pulling them and his pants all the way down and off. He yanked Aziraphale’s socks off, too, for good measure and tossed it with a thump to the floor. 

Crowley had to stand to wiggle out of his far-too-tight jeans but did so with a little show, even as he nearly tripped over a pant leg trying to get it off his foot. He grunted, tossed them and his pants aside, and crawled back over Aziraphale. 

They kissed and Aziraphale sighed against his mouth, pleased. Crowley reached down and wrapped his hand around their cocks, grinding into his grasp as they both gasped into the kiss. It was good, the pleasure curling up Aziraphale’s spine, the muscles of his stomach clenching and releasing. He bit down on Crowley’s lower lip and drew a growl from the demon and he whined in response. 

Crowley jerked his hips forward a couple of more times before he released the both of them, sitting back again. “Roll over, angel. Hands and knees.” 

Aziraphale stared at him. There was a moment of mild trepidation, a weight against the back of his neck that urged him not to turn his back to the demon. But Crowley watched him with a besotted look and reached down to rub his hand against Aziraphale’s knee. “Only if you want to. I just want to be closer to your wings.” 

Well then. He rolled over, tucking his wings against his back in the process before spreading them out again once he was on his hands and knees. Crowley’s weight settled behind him, a comforting warmth as he pressed soft kisses between his shoulder blades. 

“That’s right, my beautiful angel,” Crowley whispered against his skin, his tongue tracing along Aziraphale’s spine and raising goosebumps along the way. Then he kissed the base of Aziraphale’s wing and gently up the arch of it, leaving Aziraphale sighing softly and arching his back in a stretch. Crowley chuckled and ran his hand down Aziraphale’s back, resting it palm-down on his lower back as he leaned up as much as he could to kiss his wing. 

Then he kissed back down, switching which hand rested on Aziraphale’s back as he moved to the second wing. When he’d left Aziraphale trembling and whining from kisses alone, he pushed further and nosed against Aziraphale’s feathers. Each brush of Crowley’s nose and cheek against them made him tremble. He was hardly used to being groomed and this was far more than grooming. 

“Okay?” Crowley asked, breath ruffling his feathers. 

Aziraphale’s cock was leaking onto the sheets and he had to lean forward to rest his forehead against the cool fabric of the pillow. It was a lot. Overwhelming, even. But he liked it. Yet the words escaped them as Crowley’s fingers carded through the wing he wasn’t nuzzling and all Aziraphale could do was pant harshly into the pillow. 

“Angel,” Crowley said fondly, backing away from Aziraphale’s wings. Instead, he reached around and ran his hand down the front of him, palming his cock and then stroking him slowly. Aziraphale cried out, shoving back against Crowley’s hips. Crowley’s cock rutted up against his ass and Aziraphale realized very dearly he wanted  _ more _ . “Mm, my handsome, needy angel. When you asked me to take you to bed is this what you imagined?” 

Aziraphale shuddered with the praise and made a surprised noise when Crowley’s fingers teased along the cleft of his ass. “Or were you thinking more along the lines of this?” Crowley pressed a lubed finger into him, just to the first knuckle, and then pulled out and rubbed the flat of his thumb against him. Aziraphale’s ass clenched and released as he fought back another shudder. 

“I need you to say something Aziraphale,” Crowley teased. His lips brushed against Aziraphale’s tailbone as his thumb applied gentle pressure. “I can’t have you rendered speechless already.” 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed out. “If you don’t fuck me soon I’m going to come on your sheets anyway and then go take a bath.” 

Crowley  _ laughed _ , the damned serpent. He pressed fond, apologetic kisses to Aziraphale’s lower back and stroked a hand down the back of his thigh. “Demanding.” 

“ _ Please _ , Master,” Aziraphale hissed and tension crackled through the air. Crowley put a steadying hand on Aziraphale’s hip and pressed his forehead to his back. 

“Again,” Crowley whispered. 

“Master,” Aziraphale whined. “Please, I want you.” 

“Aziraphale…” 

“ _ Crowley _ , my  _ dear _ ,” Aziraphale switched up tactics. “Please.” 

Crowley’s finger returned, pressing in, stroking inside of him. He twisted it, finding that wonderful place within that had Aziraphale crying out into the pillow as precome leaked from his cock. Crowley removed it to slide two in in its place and Aziraphale’s breath hitched, fingers curled in the sheets. 

“C-Crowley,” he stuttered out, pleasure fading as his mind got away from him. He thought about the last time they’d done this from behind, Crowley’s rough fingers, his hot breath, his growling. Aziraphale closed his eyes and shook his head as he tried to chase the thoughts away. Why  _ now _ ? Why like  _ this _ ? He pulled away from Crowley’s touch and instead of being pulled back, Crowley removed his hands. 

“Breathe, angel,” Crowley said softly, the warmth of his body gone. “Breathe for me. Roll onto your back, let me see your face.” 

Aziraphale shook his head as he fought to get his breathing under control. Crowley didn’t push. He waited. After a few moments, Aziraphale tucked his wings in and rolled onto his back. It was easier when he could see Crowley’s gentle smile and look into his molten gold eyes. 

“There you are,” Crowley murmured reverently. “May I?” He made to shift closer and Aziraphale reached out for him, pulling him down so their bodies were pressed together. Crowley kissed him, soft and kind, his fingers carding through Aziraphale’s hair. They exchanged presses of lips and tongues, Crowley gently grinding their hips together. Aziraphale’s interest remained, comforted by the new position. 

Crowley reached out to touch his feathers and Aziraphale sighed against his mouth, breaking the kiss to nuzzle his cheek. 

“Better?” Crowley asked. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale mumbled. 

“Good.” Crowley bowed his head to brush a kiss to the claim mark and Aziraphale inhaled sharply. This time, instead of electricity, it was like a heated blanket. He’d kept one in the bookshop for particularly chilly nights, especially because Crowley would complain about the cold. The heat calmed him and he relaxed back into the mattress and blankets. He rubbed Crowley’s back, fingers tracing the line of his shoulder blade. 

They stayed like that for a few minutes, Crowley nuzzling and pressing soft kisses to his shoulder and neck. It was grounding and he turned his head to nose at Crowley’s hair. They breathed together. 

Then his touch slipped away as Crowley kissed down his body again, lips light and gentle this time, never lingering in one spot too long. When he reached Aziraphale’s hips he pushed one of his legs up and over his shoulder, Aziraphale’s heel resting against his back. 

Crowley leaned in and pressed an open mouthed kiss to the underside of Aziraphale’s cock, laving his tongue against the sensitive skin. Aziraphale gasped and squirmed, resisting the urge to push up against Crowley’s mouth. One of Crowley’s hands rested warmly against his hip, the other back to teasing at him before two generously lubed fingers slid in. 

This was  _ definitely _ better, Aziraphale decided as he arched into the delicate press of fingers. Crowley took the head of his cock barely into his mouth and rubbed it against his lips, tongue pressing to the slit and lapping up his precome. It dragged a helpless moan from Aziraphale’s throat as he tried to thrust up into Crowley’s mouth and was allowed to, his cock hitting the roof of it, then his cheek, the angle awkward but the wet heat delicious. 

He barely noticed the third finger, all of them pumping in and out and then back in and  _ twisting _ to find his prostate. It made him cry out and arch into Crowley’s mouth and Crowley swallowed around him, pressing his tongue up tight against the underside of his cock as he leisurely pulled off of it. His fingers continued their slow slide as Crowley rested his cheek on Aziraphale’s belly and looked up at him. 

Aziraphale met his gaze, though it was difficult. He was flushed and aching, rolling his hips down into the press of Crowley’s fingers. 

“Please,” he whispered. “Crowley.” 

“Mmhm. I’ve got you, angel.” He gave a few more thrusts of his fingers before rearranging their positions. Thankfully he didn’t keep Aziraphale’s leg over his shoulder because despite not minding too terribly, it wasn’t entirely pleasant to be folded nearly in half while doing this. Instead, Crowley guided his legs up around his hips, giving him a good angle. 

Aziraphale watched in a haze of anticipation as Crowley miracled lube and coated his cock in it. He licked his lips and then looked up to find Crowley’s eyes trained hungrily on him. 

“You’re blushing,” Crowley pointed out. 

“Can’t imagine why.” Aziraphale huffed. Crowley smirked and leaned down to kiss him quickly before he glanced down. He seemed focused on pressing his cock into Aziraphale, watching as the head disappeared into him. Aziraphale whined high and needy, shifting his hips to better accommodate Crowley’s slow thrust. Except Crowley didn’t push in all the way. Still in hand, he pulled back out, the ridge of the head catching on his rim before he pulled entirely out just to luxuriously push back in. 

“Don’t  _ tease _ ,” Aziraphale gasped out, exasperated and flinging his head back onto the pillow with tightly shut eyes. He fluttered his wings in irritation, fluffing them. Crowley leaned in and kissed his jaw as he eased back into him, huffing a laugh against his skin. 

“Mine,” Crowley said simply, as if that explained it. Despite it, he did press completely into Aziraphale this time and the stretch and pressure was exactly what Aziraphale craved. He reached up to put his arms around Crowley, resting one hand against the nape of his neck as Crowley set a gentle pace. He made sure Aziraphale felt all of it, the slow pull out and the drag of skin on silky skin, then the delicious pressure of sliding completely back in. 

He felt every inch, every push, and turned to whimper brokenly against Crowley’s neck. He kissed Crowley’s hammering pulse, clinging to him as they steadily worked up to a comfortable rhythm. Neither seemed to be racing to the finish line, far more interested in a stroll together. 

Aziraphale relaxed and let his mind go, stretching into the ether. 

_ Hello _ . Crowley’s voice echoed in his mind except it wasn’t English. It was an older language that sounded a lot like music, lyrical and beautiful. A melody even, as he whispered Aziraphale’s name straight into his heart. 

Aziraphale, swirling light and eyes and flame, curled around and through the spaces in Crowley’s darkness. It was like trying to catch the sky, to grasp the stars in his hands, but they always fell right through as Crowley danced away with a laugh. Crowley was sleek and agile, a gathering of sparkling atoms and eyes like melted gold, a serpent in every way possible. Aziraphale’s light was bold, sturdy, he couldn’t keep up but at the right moment he was able to grapple Crowley, falling through the darkness until their wings caught the air and they twirled together. 

There was something it tickled in the back of his vast and shifting mind. Something familiar, but far away. On the tip of his tongue, but millions of years old. It confused him. He should remember something shouldn’t he? 

He crashed back into his body with a sharp gasp, realizing Crowley’s mouth was pressed up against his pulse, cock still buried in him. “Harder,” Aziraphale begged. “Please, Crowley, harder.” He needed to feel it, needed to know he was flesh and bone and  _ here _ and forget whatever it was he needed to remember. 

“Angel,” Crowley growled and he sounded gone, slightly wrecked and on the edge of feral. Aziraphale realized his nails were claws, but instead of digging they lightly scraped down his side and pressed into the meat of his thigh in a pleasantly threatening way. Crowley  _ could _ hurt him, could likely rip his corporation to pieces, but he wouldn’t. He kept hold of it, of the wild thing inside of him, and instead he shifted his hips and pressed harder and faster into Aziraphale. 

“Yes, yes…” It was all Aziraphale could manage, each syllable fucked out of him as he gasped for air he didn’t actually need. He held onto Crowley, turned his head to press their lips together in a fierce open mouthed kiss full of teeth and tongue and the taste of copper when Crowley bit his lip too roughly. It was  _ good _ though, wasn’t it? And he loved Crowley. 

He  _ loved _ Crowley. 

Aziraphale arched up with a cry and came hard between them, shuddering with it, his heels digging into Crowley’s lower back. Crowley growled in surprise and thrust frantically into him, gripped by Aziraphale’s tense body wracked with blinding hot pleasure. Oh, he loved him. Could Crowley feel it? Could  _ his _ Crowley feel it, somewhere out there? 

Crowley’s teeth sank into his claiming mark, sending another shock of pleasure coursing through him as he went taut and shouted. It was almost like coming again, except there was no fluid left, nothing more than a twitching cock and broken whimpers as Crowley finally let up. 

They both panted harshly, bodies trembling. It was all that Aziraphale could hear as the sweat began to cool and he became a bit uncomfortable. His own breathing seemed particularly loud as he struggled to collect himself. 

“Okay?” Crowley managed to get out, his chest heaving against Aziraphale’s. 

“Mmhm.” Aziraphale reached up and lazily pet a hand through Crowley’s sweat drenched hair. 

“Good.” Crowley dropped his forehead to Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Gonna pull out.” 

“Mm.” Aziraphale braced for it and, as promised, Crowley slipped out of him. His come followed and Aziraphale shuddered and made a face. Crowley laughed. 

“Prissy, angel,” Crowley hummed as he found Aziraphale’s lips and kissed him. Then he frowned against the kiss, pulling back to look at Aziraphale who could barely keep his eyes open to look back. “Your lip is bleeding.” 

“Mmhm.” Aziraphale wasn’t sure he could form words. He sucked on his lower lip instead, watched as Crowley’s eyes hooded with something that looked an awful lot like desire. 

“Doesn’t hurt?” 

Aziraphale shrugged and pulled Crowley down for another kiss. They indulged like that until Aziraphale couldn’t stand the sensation of drying come. Crowley seemed amused, but whisked them away to a shower before going back to a bed that had been miracled clean. The sheets still smelled like sex and  _ them _ and Aziraphale didn’t mind it one bit as he settled his aching, naked body against Crowley’s. 

There was no point in getting dressed. 

Crowley seemed content to wind around Aziraphale, kissing whatever skin he could reach. They both smelled like citrus and ginger, and when Aziraphale licked at the corner of Crowley’s mouth he realized they tasted like it, too. 

“Did you claim me again?” Aziraphale lay with his head against Crowley’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. 

“Yes.” Crowley reached up and drew his fingers through Aziraphale’s curls. 

“Ah.” 

“That okay?” 

“Quite.” Aziraphale settled closer. 

“Can I see your wings again, angel?” Crowley sounded hesitant. Aziraphale didn’t see any reason not to as he manifested them, draping one over Crowley. Almost immediately, Crowley’s hands were on him, fussing with his feathers. 

“You wanted to see them to  _ groom _ me,” Aziraphale said in disbelief. 

“It’ll bother me if I don’t.” 

“Bother  _ you _ !” 

“You should groom them more often,” Crowley grumbled. “Then I wouldn’t need to do it.” 

“You don’t  _ need _ to do anything.” 

“I do. Can’t take you up to Earth with your feathers in this sorry state.” 

“No one is going to see them!” Aziraphale laughed, settling further onto Crowley’s chest so he wasn’t crushing one of his arms. 

“ _ I’m _ going to see them,” Crowley shot back. 

“Incorrigible.” 

“Go to sleep, angel.” 

“Not when you’re plucking feathers out!” 

“I’m not  _ plucking _ .” Crowley huffed. “They’re ready to come out and they ought to. Satan, when was the last time you groomed outside of a molt?” 

Aziraphale remained silent on the issue and Crowley made a noise of displeasure, but said nothing else. He merely continued his task and Aziraphale, once he got used to the touch, gave in and drifted off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Tuesday & Friday (yes, even on Christmas Eve!)
> 
> Come chill with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/). I'm friendly, I swear.


	19. Chapter 19 - Act II: Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They can't put it off any longer, so Crowley and Aziraphale head to Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas! (Eve!) To all of those who celebrate, anyway. Happy holidays to those who are celebrating other things this time of year. Whatever you celebrate (or don't), wherever you are as fall has tipped into winter know this: I love you!
> 
> Everyone's continued comments make me so, so grateful for this fandom and this community. Y'all are so kind, so creative, so engaged! I'm thankful. So thank you. 
> 
> This chapter brings us, finally, to Earth. This begins what I'm referring to as the second act of the piece (of which there will be three). We're jumping straight back into the plot and it'll be rocky for a bit, so hang in there. As a reminder, this DOES have a happy ending. There's just a lot of bumps to get through first.

Aziraphale woke to gentle fingers carding through one of his wings and a warm mouth at his neck. He hummed and tilted his head back, enjoying the gentle pressure of teeth as Crowley nibbled at him. They had to get out of bed soon, he knew. He had some items he needed to gather to take to Earth and there was a whole adventure waiting for them up there. 

But right then, he wanted to bask in the warmth of Crowley’s body pressed to his and the delightful shivers that fingers on his wings wrought. 

“Good morning angel,” Crowley whispered against his skin, finally finding his lips as they shared a few soft kisses. Aziraphale carded his fingers through Crowley’s hair, licking into his mouth, groaning when Crowley’s fingers curled gently in his feathers. 

“Good morning,” Aziraphale replied when he broke away from the kiss, resting his head back on the pillows. 

“Your wings are looking better.” There was pride in Crowley’s eyes as he glanced over at white feathers, drawing the tip of his finger down a long primary. 

“Prideful beast,” Aziraphale teased, brushing his knuckles against Crowley’s cheek. “They are looking lovely, thank you.” 

Crowley sobered a bit, the soft joy on his face collapsing into something pensive. “We likely won’t be able to act like this up top. We’ll be watched.” 

Aziraphale assumed as much. They couldn’t wander around looking like besotted lovers when he was supposed to be a slave and Crowley a master. He’d have to take on the role of his life and try to make Shakespeare proud with his acting. God knew he acted for Heaven enough times, tricking Hell should be similar. 

“We’ll do what needs to be done,” Aziraphale assured him. 

“Right.” Crowley heaved a sigh and then buried his face against Aziraphale’s shoulder, nuzzling his claim mark. Aziraphale reached up and pet a hand through his hair as the two of them basked in the safety of Crowley’s home. 

Eventually they got up, cleaning themselves up and dressing before proceeding to breakfast. At every turn Crowley touched him, or kissed him, chasing the taste of English breakfast tea. Aziraphale reciprocated, all too aware of Crowley’s mounting anxiety, trying to soothe it through gentle touches and soft kisses. 

Soon there was nothing left to keep them there and Aziraphale looked at himself in the mirror, fussing with his bowtie. He’d donned his new suit and looked more like himself than he had in quite some time. Perhaps it was a good omen. 

“You look fine, angel.” Crowley stood in the doorway of the bathroom. “Tip-top.” 

“Thank you.” Aziraphale smiled and cast one last glance at himself before he walked over to Crowley. “We have everything we need?” 

“Mmhm.” Crowley leaned in and kissed Aziraphale’s forehead. “Nothing left to keep us here.” 

“Indeed. Let us be off.” 

They walked to a part of Hell Aziraphale remembered only vaguely, from another life, when he’d been wearing Crowley’s skin. It was a reception area of sorts, one that led to an escalator going up. Crowley nodded and showed his paperwork to a demon at the desk, Aziraphale standing by obediently, toying with the charm on his collar to soothe his nerves. 

He was directed to the escalator and he stayed a couple of steps behind Crowley.

They reached the top and stepped out of the building onto the streets of London and Aziraphale nearly collapsed. Despair permeated the air and the fear of thousands of humans huddling away, hiding from the world weighed Aziraphale down. He struggled to breathe despite knowing he didn’t strictly need to as he instinctively reached for miracles and had to stop himself. 

He could make this better. He could  _ help _ them. Humanity needed him, an angel, a carrier of God’s mercy and grace. Aziraphale would have stopped the apocalypse time and again if it meant preventing  _ this _ . He barely registered Crowley’s arm around him, or being hurried into a secluded alleyway. He was too dizzy, his stomach flip-flopping and threatening to evict his breakfast as he continued to take stuttering breaths. 

“Fear,” Aziraphale whispered and closed his eyes as Crowley’s hands wiped tears from his cheeks. “It is everywhere.” 

“Shh, angel, I know. This is why we don’t bring your kind up here.” Crowley undid Aziraphale’s bowtie, and the top buttons of his shirt, and pushed the fabric aside to reveal his mark. He drew his fingers over it and Aziraphale shuddered, whining, and then Crowley’s lips followed and Aziraphale sobbed. He sobbed because the familiar warm safety of  _ Crowley _ surrounded him and he clung to his leather jacket. Crowley’s mouth was comforting, his presence large and shimmering as it shaded Aziraphale from the world. 

Finally he could breathe again, despite tears continuing to fall. Crowley murmured soft encouragements against his skin before he bit down on the mark and Aziraphale gasped, then relaxed. He wasn’t alone, at least. He had Crowley here and they had to figure it out. They saved the world once, why not again? 

“There you are,” Crowley said as he buttoned Aziraphale’s shirt back up, straightening the collar and retying the bowtie. He smoothed his hands down Aziraphale’s front before reaching up to cup his face. Aziraphale gazed at him, into his beautiful golden yellow eyes, and then leaned forward to brush their lips together. Crowley kissed him chastely before he stepped away. “Ready?” 

Aziraphale nodded. He was as ready as he could be. 

“Right. It is normal for angels to find being up here a bit rough so don’t worry too much about appearance. Might actually help our case. C’mon.” Crowley stepped away and left the alley, Aziraphale following dutifully. What he didn’t expect was to be led to the Bentley, parked against a curb. 

“Oh.” Aziraphale stepped forward and touched the car, fond and reverent. 

“She’s a good car,” Crowley said, walking around to open the passenger side door. “Come on angel, in.” 

Aziraphale walked around and slipped inside, allowing Crowley to close the door. Crowley walked back around the car and slid into the driver’s side, leaving Aziraphale with a profound sense of nostalgia. How many hours had they spent just like this, speeding through London or wherever else Crowley wanted to go? 

He glanced at Crowley and watched as he slid sunglasses onto his face. 

“I imagine you still break the speed limit?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley flashed him a devious grin. 

“What’s the speed limit to a demon?” Crowley asked in return before the Bentley roared to life and he gunned it through the streets of London.

They proceeded to Buckingham Palace, stopped at the gate by two demons working security who reviewed Crowley’s papers and allowed them to pass. 

“Adam set up shop here?” Aziraphale glanced at Crowley as the demon pulled into a parking spot. 

“Seat of a monarch’s power, you know. He’s King Adam now and the Horsemen thought he ought to make sure the world knew it. We’ll have rooms here but you should assume all of them are bugged and we are constantly being watched.” Crowley shut off the car and exhaled slowly. “Ready, angel?” 

He was as ready as he could be, he supposed. Aziraphale clutched his messenger bag and nodded. 

They got out of the car and Aziraphale trailed behind Crowley, trying to ignore the static in the back of his mind that reminded him of the misery all around them. Humanity was hurting and there was nothing he could do about it. 

Aziraphale kept his head down as they approached the front door once more flanked by two uniformed guards. They checked Crowley’s paperwork. 

“Nice angel ya got there, Lord Crowley,” one of them said. “Any chance you’ll share ‘im?” 

“Not on your life,” Crowley replied and Aziraphale could almost hear his snarl. 

“Right, right, er, sorry sir. Please, step inside.” They opened the door and Crowley stepped in, Aziraphale following. He didn’t look at the two demonic guards. 

The entryway to the palace was just as Aziraphale remembered it from the few times he’d had reason to go in. The air inside was cleaner than it was outside, almost as if it were protected in a way the rest of the world wasn’t. He stared at the heels of Crowley’s boots as they came to a stop. There were footsteps, then a greeting. 

“Lord Crowley, long time no see. I thought you’d been reassigned to hell.” 

“I had been,” Crowley replied. “But Beelzebub sent me back up here to do another report. Typical, right?” He sighed. “Should be a quick trip, have a few other errands to run up here anyway, just wanted to pop in and make sure things were running smoothly here.” 

“Right, of course. Other errands? The paperwork mentioned that but wasn’t specific.” 

Crowley scoffed. “Need to know, and apparently you don’t.” 

Aziraphale glanced up in time to see the other demon scowl before he schooled his expression into something a bit more passive. 

“I see you’ve earned yourself an angel. Quite the honor.” 

“Quite.” Crowley glanced back at Aziraphale and then to the demon. “Weren’t you given one, Uthgar?” 

“Oh, yes, yes. Ansanel get out here you useless piece of shit!” He barked, and from a shadowed corridor came what could only loosely be described as an angel. He was a slight wisp of a being, thin beneath a tattered and ratty tunic that went down to his knees. The angel was barefoot, his feet dirty and blackened. Pale blonde hair hung limp around his shoulders, though patches of it were missing from his scalp. 

He had dark shadows beneath his sunken eyes and didn’t seem able to lift his head. Most horrifying was what he dragged behind him. His wings were out, but they were mutilated, broken at multiple points so they were nothing but a mess of limbs and feathers that dragged on the ground. 

“Master,” Ansanel whispered, voice hoarse. He took a position on his knees near Uthgar and kept his gaze trained on the ground. Closer up, Aziraphale noticed the mottled bruises along what skin was visible, as well as torn up skin on his neck where it seemed he’d been bitten over and over again. 

“This is mine. It took a bit to break him in even with Langathar’s help. He’s the one who suggested breaking his wings before allowing him free reign of the palace. You should have heard him scream.” Uthgar sounded as if he were recalling a particularly fond memory. Aziraphale wanted to be sick as the misery wafted off the other angel in deep, overwhelming waves. 

“Now he behaves like a good little bitch.” Uthgar reached over to pet Ansanel’s hair and the angel began to tremble. “Come now, you’ve done well, I’m not going to hurt you in front of the guests.” He rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I imagine you’ll be wanting a room. King Adam is accepting counsel from the Horsemen right now but he’ll be available later this evening and I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.” 

“Yes, a room would be good, along with some food.” 

“Ansanel, go prepare a platter for our guests and deliver it to the Sunset room.” 

“Yes, master,” the angel whispered as he stood and turned, leaving the room. Aziraphale winced in sympathy as the poor creature dragged his wings behind him. 

“You should have food waiting for you by the time you get settled. Feel free to wander about the palace, you should know it well enough. If you need anything, call for it. There’s a few demon servants wandering around - paid for their work, of course - and Ansanel knows to obey any of your commands too.” Uthgar paused, glancing at Aziraphale. “You’ve prettied yours up.” 

“I have. I prefer mine to be well and healthy,” Crowley replied. “He’s more useful this way.” 

“Mm. You say that, but if you want to try Ansanel out to compare you’re welcome to. Just don’t cover up any of my claiming marks or I’ll fuck you up.” Uthgar grinned as if it were a joke. It turned Aziraphale’s stomach. 

“You said you’ve had the Sunset room prepared?” 

“Yes, thought you might like your old quarters. I remember how much you enjoyed sleeping.” 

“Thank you, Uthgar.” Crowley smiled at him. “You run a tight ship.” 

“That I do,” Uthgar looked pleased with himself. “I’m at your service, Lord Crowley. Lovely to have you back.” 

“Come, angel.” Crowley headed toward the stairs and Aziraphale followed him, ignoring the way Uthgar’s eyes followed his every move. 

Up to the second floor and down a long hallway he was ushered into a sitting room attached to a bedroom. He looked around then to Crowley. 

“Sitting room, kitchen,” he pointed to a kitchenette and then headed for the bedroom. “Bedroom, ensuite bath. This has most of what we’ll need, though I don’t imagine we’ll stay for more than a night.” 

Aziraphale nodded, not sure what was safe to say. He couldn’t help but thing about Ansanel and his broken wings. 

Crowley snapped his fingers and a miracle simmered in the air. “Wards,” he explained. “They’ll keep this private for short amounts of time. You look like you’re going to be sick, angel.” 

“I might,” Aziraphale admitted. “That angel…” 

Crowley grimaced. “Yes. It makes our mission here all the more important.” 

“His  _ wings _ .” Aziraphale thought about Crowley’s gentle grooming, the way his fingers felt carding through his feathers, how kind he’d been, when he could have snapped them like twigs. Aziraphale shuddered at the thought. 

“I know.” Crowley stepped toward him and rested his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders, squeezed. “I know, angel.” He leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together, Aziraphale closing his eyes and leaning into it. The pressure was nice, as was the warmth that radiated off of Crowley. Soon he moved his head so he could tuck it into the crook of Crowley’s neck, and Crowley’s arms slid around him in a gentle embrace. 

Aziraphale breathed him in, taking comfort in citrus and ginger for a long moment before he pulled away. “We have much to do.” 

“Yes, we do.” 

A knock came at the door. Aziraphale went to answer it, finding Ansanel on the other side. 

“A plate for your master,” he whispered, and Aziraphale realized that was just the way the other angel spoke. It was as if his voice had been stolen from him. 

“Thank you,” Aziraphale replied, taking the tray in one hand. 

“Does your master require any other services?” Ansanel’s voice wavered on the word ‘services’. Aziraphale shook his head. 

“No, dear boy, he does not. But…” Aziraphale reached a hand forward and touched Ansanel’s cheek. At first he flinched away from it, but then his dark brown eyes found Aziraphale’s, widened in surprise. Ansanel leaned desperately into the touch as Aziraphale shared a small bit of divine grace with him. It was the least he could do, remembering how comforting Nanael’s touch had been. 

“Thank you,” Ansanel whispered, eyes glassy. “Thank you, thank you.” 

“Be well my dear,” Aziraphale murmured, stroking his thumb over Ansanel’s cheek before he pulled back. Ansanel cast him one last look before he turned and left back down the hallway, Aziraphale watching him go before he closed the door. 

Crowley took the tray gently out of his hands. “That was likely the kindest touch he’s had in a long time.” 

“Yes. I think you’re right.” 

“Hungry, angel?” Crowley asked as he walked the tray over to a small table in the kitchenette. 

“No. If it is all the same to you I...I think I’d rather like to take a hot bath.” 

Crowley hesitated. “Can I join you?” 

“Yes. Please.” They ran hot water into a generously sized tub and Crowley got in first, Aziraphale stripping out of his suit and following. As he sank into the water it soothed away some of his worries and leaning back against Crowley’s chest was even better. Crowley’s arms came up around him, cradling him to his chest, and Aziraphale tucked his face against his neck and breathed in. 

Crowley had scented the water with lavender and put in bubbles and Aziraphale was grateful for it. He sighed and relaxed into Crowley’s embrace, sliding one hand up and down Crowley’s arm. They stayed like that until the water grew cool, exchanging gentle touches and nothing more. It was a comfort and when he was encircled in Crowley’s arms, Aziraphale could pretend they were at a hotel on holiday and not in a world ruled by Hell. 

“I’m getting pruney, angel,” Crowley murmured and kissed his temple. “And I imagine we’ll be getting a summons from Adam soon.” 

“Right.” He sighed and reluctantly shifted out of Crowley’s embrace. They both got out of the tub and dried off, changing back into their clothes. 

“Eat,” Crowley insisted, offering Aziraphale a piece of cheese on a cracker. 

“If you insist.” His appetite had not returned, but Aziraphale knew he ought to eat something at least. They sat quietly and shared the plate of nibbles, their feet bumping underneath the table.

An hour later there was a firm knock and Aziraphale shared a glance with Crowley before he stood and answered it. Standing before him was a demon, dressed in the same garb as the guards at the front door. 

“Lord Crowley has been summoned by King Adam. He is to meet him in his study. Is that clear?” 

“Yes, sir. I will relay the message.” 

The demon nodded and left. Aziraphale shut the door and glanced over at Crowley. “Need I relay the message, sir?” 

Crowley scoffed. “No, angel. I heard it. I suppose it is time for you to meet Adam.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Tuesday and Friday!
> 
> If you want to yell about Lenore come hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/).


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale finally meets Adam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello everyone. Hope you all survived the holidays. I finished writing this fic on Christmas Day and it looks like it'll be 35 chapters. I need to reread the third act to make sure it is paced the way I want it to be, but...this beast is pretty much done and ready to be beta'ed. 
> 
> Right now I'm working on some bonus chapter content aside from the main plot that I hope you'll all enjoy, since I'm not quite ready to leave this universe yet. However, you all are just embarking on the journey to Earth....so buckle in. Excited to see what you think about it. Thanks, as always, for reading + commenting.

Buckingham Palace hadn’t been redecorated, though it seemed any evidence of the previous human Monarchs had been torn down or otherwise vandalized. It was strange to pass through the echoing halls and find them lifeless. Aziraphale trailed dutifully behind Crowley as they made their way to the study, a door opening and a demon guarding it announcing their arrival. 

Or, Crowley’s arrival. Aziraphale wasn’t mentioned which was likely for the best. 

“Crowley.” Famine was there to welcome them, all sly smiles and soft American accent. “It has been a few weeks, hasn’t it.” 

“Indeed. Didn’t think I’d be back up here so soon.” 

Aziraphale took in the study. There were lounges, armchairs, some bookcases, a piano in the corner. It was a strange room to hold counsel but he didn’t voice his opinion. 

“Well, Adam was certainly excited to hear of your arrival.” 

“I’m sure. I’ve been looking forward to seeing him.” Crowley looked around. “Where is he?” 

“Oh, he needed a break.” 

“He’s off running around the halls,” a feminine voice groused. Aziraphale looked over and saw War prowling near the window. “He’ll be back in a few moments, I’m sure.” 

“He’s a child, War,” Famine pointed out. “He’s allowed to have a bit of fun after a long meeting.” 

War merely growled and fell silent, eyes on the world outside. 

“Sorry about her, she’s a bit cranky after long meetings that don’t end in a brawl.” Famine shrugged, and then his gaze found Aziraphale. “I see you’ve brought a slave.” 

“Yes, thought he could be helpful with some business I need to attend to.” 

“Hm. He looks better kept than the few here in the palace. Well done. I’ve always said there’s no need to break them. There’s other ways to negotiate loyalty.” 

“Right.” 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale’s head shot up at the familiar voice as a small boy came barreling into the room. He recognized the mop of curls and bright eyes as he launched himself at Crowley. Crowley was quick and gathered him into his arms, spinning him with a bright grin. 

“Hey squirt!” Crowley greeted, spinning him a few more times before he set him down. Adam wobbled but the big smile never left his face. “I think you’ve gotten taller.” 

“Yeah! I have! I’ll be taller than you one day.” 

“Of that I have no doubt.” 

Wandering from between the stacks was a looming hound that immediately caught Aziraphale’s attention. It was as large as a Great Dane, but with longer fur. It has bright red eyes that met Aziraphale’s and a shiver of recognition went through them both. The great beast stalked over and Aziraphale held his ground, swallowing. 

The hellhound whined, pressed his ears back against his massive head, and nosed at Aziraphale’s hands. When Aziraphale reached up to hesitantly rub his head the beast’s tail began to wag. 

“Oh!” Adam noticed it almost immediately. “He likes you! Good Dog! Wow! He never does that. He doesn’t even like Crowley very much.” 

“Only because I swatted him with newspaper that one time,” Crowley grumbled. 

Dog licked Aziraphale’s face, his tail going wild now as he bounced from one front foot to the other in a little excited dance. It would be cute if it weren’t a hellhound doing it. 

“Hello,” Aziraphale murmured. “It seems we recognize one another.” 

Dog made a garbled talking sound that was definitely not a bark. Aziraphale scratched him behind the ear. 

“You’re a slave then?” Adam asked. “Crowley’s slave?” 

“Yes, sir. Er. My liege?” He glanced at Crowley who smacked his face and shook his head. “My lord? King? I’m afraid I’ve quite forgotten how best to refer to you…” 

“Just Adam s’all right.” He grinned and walked over to rub Dog along his back. “I like your bowtie.” 

“Oh, thank you. Master Crowley purchased it for me.” 

“Maybe I’ll wear a bowtie sometime. Famine, can we buy bowties? Do you think Madame Tracy could make one?”

“Madame who?” Aziraphale sputtered before realizing he’d talked out of turn, Crowley giving him a sharp look, Famine giving him a curious one. 

Beyond Adam and Dog, War actually seemed interested in the proceedings now and watched them all from a distance. 

“Madame Tracy, she’s my nanny, not that I really need one but she’s really good at cooking and Dog likes her and she’s been with me forever.” Adam shrugged. “So she moved here when I did. She’s the best.” 

“I can only imagine. She sounds it.” 

“Crowley?” Adam turned his attention back to the demon. “Will you be staying for dinner? I know the memo said you’ve got a few other things to do while you’re here but I’d love it if you stayed at least one night! I can show you the palace! We hadn’t moved in fully when you went back to Hell.” 

“Of course Adam, I wouldn’t dream of not spending the evening with you!” Crowley looked like he meant it and Aziraphale could sense his fondness for the child. His  _ love _ for him. 

Dog remained at Aziraphale’s side, nuzzling against his stomach and nosing at his hand. Aziraphale pat him. 

“C’mon,” Adam grabbed Crowley’s hand. “Lets go look at the garden! We can play outside.” 

“Sure, yeah. Er,” he glanced back at Aziraphale. 

“Your angel can come too! What’s his name?” 

“Aziraphale.” 

“Aziraphale,” Adam let go of Crowley’s hand and walked over to him. “Would you like to come to the garden with us? You can even walk with Dog since he seems to like you so much.” 

“It would be my pleasure, Adam.” 

“Show your guests around, Adam,” Famine said. “I’ll make sure the staff get started on preparing dinner for all of us tonight.” 

“Because you’re such a fan of it,” War snorted as she approached the group. “ _ I’ll _ take care of dinner, since if we let you do it we’ll all be eating celery and air.” 

Famine grimaced. “ _ Fine _ . I’m not going to starve our King.” 

“Wouldn’t put it past you.” 

“War,” Famine growled out. War smirked. 

“What? Want to spar a bit? Make me eat my words? Come on, it has been a while since I’ve been allowed to do anything.” 

“Go pester one of the servants if you’re itching to spar. I have no interest.” 

“You’re the  _ worst _ .” 

“I am.” Famine didn’t seem bothered. 

Aziraphale watched it all happen until he was nudged by an overeager Dog and they turned to trail after Crowley and Adam who had already taken off toward the hallway. 

“How are things going for you, Adam?” Crowley asked, walking alongside the boy. 

“Alright I guess. Famine has been in a mood, like he’s unhappy about somethin’ but I dunno what.” Adam shrugged. “They want to get on with what they’re calling Phase 2 but I dunno how they expect people to be interested in listening to me if they keep hurtin’ everyone.” 

Aziraphale exchanged a look with Dog, his unexpected ally. The hellhound drooled a little. 

“That’s what you want?” Crowley sounded surprised. “To get people to listen to you?” 

“‘Course, isn’t it what Kings are supposed to do? At least all the ones in the books I read did things to get people to listen. We got their attention, but if we keep hurtin’ them we’ll have no one left to rule.” 

Still a smart boy, Aziraphale thought. Perhaps too smart for his own good. 

“Well, that’s noble of you at least.” 

“Not noble,” Adam said. “Right. I wanna remake the world to be somethin’ good, where kids can have fun and adults don’t gotta worry about the stuff that makes them yell at us, and there’s no wars and a lot of ice cream.” 

“That sounds like a nice world, Adam.” Crowley ruffled his hair. “I’ll see what I can do to help you make it happen.” 

They made it to a sprawling back garden with rolling green lawns and flower beds. Off to the right there was a circle of dead grass and in the middle of it sat Pollution, cross-legged, eyes closed. 

“Oi, Pollution!” Adam sounded exasperated. “Told ya not to hang out in the garden. You’re killing the grass.” 

Pollution looked over and slowly rose to their feet, bowing. “Apologies, my King. I lost track of myself.” 

“S’okay. Just...don’t do it again alright? The grass should be  _ green _ .” And of course, just like that, the grass was alive and flourishing again. Pollution looked at it and shrugged. 

“As you wish.” Pollution bowed again and walked away, their feet leaving footprints the consistency of sludge behind. Adam wished them away with the wave of a hand. 

“Anyway, wanna play hide and go seek? Lot of good places to hide around here. Aziraphale can play. You too, Dog.” 

“Of course. How about you hide first and I’ll come looking for you?” 

“Yeah! Count to twenty.” 

Crowley turned away from them and began counting out loud. Adam looked at Aziraphale with a bright expression. “C’mon, we gotta hide!” 

And hide they did. In what was one of the strangest afternoons of his existence, Aziraphale played hide and go seek with the antichrist, Crowley, and a hellhound before they were all called in for dinner. 

Aziraphale and Crowley washed up in their room. 

“How should I act at dinner?” Aziraphale asked, fixing his bowtie. 

“Before Adam took a liking to you, I would have said you shouldn’t come. Since he’s insistent, I imagine you ought to act like yourself as much as you’re comfortable. You’ve got good instincts, go with those.” Crowley stepped up behind him and they made eye contact in the mirror. 

“It might not be safe,” Aziraphale murmured, glancing away. 

“I tossed up some more wards,” Crowley whispered as he leaned down and kissed Aziraphale’s neck. “Also, I don’t imagine I’d get docked for wanting to derive pleasure from my slave.” He kissed the spot right below Aziraphale’s ear and then sucked on it. 

Aziraphale pressed back into him with a little whimper. “You’re a tease.” 

“Mmhm.” Crowley smoothed a hand down Aziraphale’s front. “You look good.” 

“I don’t imagine your  _ slave _ would look anything less than.” 

“You have that right.” Crowley sighed against his neck and nuzzled. “What was up with the dog today? He wouldn’t stop following you around.” 

“He knows me,” Aziraphale answered. 

“I’m sorry, he what?” Crowley’s brow furrowed as he stepped back in order to come around and look at Aziraphale properly. 

“He recognized me and I recognized him. He’s Dog as I knew him just...much larger.” Aziraphale shrugged. “Not entirely sure how this information is significant but I suppose it is nice to have the favor of a beast like that.” 

“Where were you when I was training him?” Crowley grumbled. “Damn thing never took a liking to  _ me _ and I’m the one who fed him more often than not!” 

Aziraphale leaned up and kissed Crowley’s frown away. Crowley rested their foreheads together afterward. They were quiet, eyes closed, breathing in the calm for a mere moment before they stepped away from one another. 

“After you,  _ master _ ,” Aziraphale said, motioning out of the bathroom. Crowley rolled his eyes and left and they headed down to the dining hall. 

When Aziraphale saw Madame Tracy he nearly stopped breathing. She was there, sitting beside Adam in a place of honor, listening to him chatter on about his day. They both seemed to notice Aziraphale and Crowley and Adam lit up and waved to them. 

“Crowley! You’ll sit next to me and your angel next to you!” He motioned to their seats. Crowley followed, Aziraphale waiting until he was seated before he took a seat himself. 

“Crowley, you know Madame Tracy, but this is Aziraphale.” 

“A pleasure, Aziraphale,” Madame Tracy smiled. She looked alright, if a bit tired. The end of the world would probably exhaust even the strongest human. “Adam was telling me you both gave him a run for his money playing hide and seek today.” 

“Indeed. I pulled out some of my best tricks but he always managed to find me.” 

“I cheated a little,” Adam admitted. “Sometimes I had Dog help.” 

Dog, Aziraphale noticed, lay near Adam’s chair and appeared to be dozing. 

Dinner was good, if a bit angled toward an 11-year-old boy who preferred chicken tenders and begrudgingly ate broccoli. Aziraphale enjoyed it as well as he could and their small party was joined by Famine and War. Famine pushed food around his plate while War ate like a starved soldier, eventually grabbing Famine’s plate to finish off his serving. 

Crowley and Adam seemed to have a lot to discuss so outside of polite responses to questions from Madame Tracy, and the occasional answer to one of Adam’s questions, Aziraphale allowed dinner to pass uneventfully. As servants (demons, he noted) came to clean up the table Adam called his name. 

“Yes, sir?” Aziraphale asked, looking at him. 

“Would you go on a walk with me?

“I’d be happy to accompany you and Master Crowley on a walk.” 

“Oh, no. I meant just us. You and me.” 

Crowley frowned a little. “You sure, Adam?” 

It was Adam’s turn to frown. “Why wouldn’t I be? We had fun playing today and I wanna talk to him about something. I’m the King, I can take a walk with your angel.” 

What amused Aziraphale about the defense was how unsure Adam sounded in it. It was as if he were questioning his own authority. 

“I’d be happy all the same,” Aziraphale said and Crowley gave him a look. He shrugged. What was he supposed to do? Deny the antichrist a walk? 

Once dinner was clear, Crowley took Aziraphale aside. “Alright, angel?” 

“I think I’ll be just fine, dear.” Or he wouldn’t. Adam would somehow know Aziraphale’s true intentions and would burn him in hellfire and be done with it. He wasn’t about to tell Crowley that, despite guessing he was having similar thoughts. 

“I’ll be in our room. Have Adam bring you back there if you can. I don’t want you wandering around without him.” 

“Of course.” Aziraphale resisted the urge to kiss him and instead bowed and walked back to Adam who was petting Dog. “Ready to go?” 

“Yeah! C’mon.” He took Aziraphale’s hand which startled him. What startled him even more was when Adam, Dog in tow, led him out of the palace onto the streets of London. The sick feeling returned as despair hemmed in around him and he swayed on his feet. 

“Oh.” Adam sounded like he had forgotten something and waved his hand. Just like that, the despair was gone. Aziraphale didn’t feel  _ anything _ actually. No fear, no sadness, no love. All of his angelic senses were gone and he looked at Adam who shrugged. “S’okay. They’ll come back. Just when you’re with me you can’t feel them.” 

“I didn’t realize you knew.” 

“I could feel it. You were sad and I wanted to help. So...yeah.” 

Not for the first time Aziraphale was in awe of this remarkable boy. “Thank you.” 

They walked in silence for a while, Aziraphale taking in the crumbled and collapsed buildings around them. There was garbage on the street, chemical spillage, overturned vehicles, and the occasional corpse. The apocalypse had ravaged the city he loved and his heart sank. 

“I’ve been havin’ dreams about you.” Adam broke the silence after a while, hand still firmly in Aziraphale’s. 

“You have?” 

“Yeah. They’re full of static but I recognized you when I saw you. Didn’t make sense until you were there in front of me.” 

“What are the dreams about?” 

“I dunno.” Adam squeezed his hand. “A different world I guess. I just get glimpses of it. Dreams about friends and trees and perfect summer weather. None of that exists now, ‘course. Might not ever have existed. Maybe it will once I remake the world.” 

“I see.” Aziraphale’s mind was a mess of possibilities. Did Adam remember? It was different from his experience and from Beelzebub’s. They’d had dreams of each other, but knew their real lives from the start. This was not that. “You mentioned static?” 

“Yeah. Dunno. Made everything hard to see.” He paused. “So Crowley said you guys are here to look into a few things? You can do whatever, y’know. I don’t mind. Not much to see right now but if there’s stuff you want you can grab it before it is all gone. I told the Horsemen to wait another couple of weeks before doing anything wild. Dunno if they’ll listen.” 

“Aren’t they your subjects? You’re King, they should listen.” 

“Should, but don’t. I guess I could make them but I don’t really like doing that.” Adam frowned. 

“I suppose I can understand why.” 

“You’ll come back one last time to visit before you go back to Hell, right?” Adam looked at him, bright blue eyes hopeful. “Dog likes you a lot and we could have a lot of fun.” 

“Of course, Adam. Of course I’ll come back.” Then, because he couldn’t stop himself, he tugged the boy into a hug. 

“Madame Tracy’s the only one who hugs me anymore now that Crowley is gone,” Adam mumbled, hugging back. “Thanks.” 

“Not a problem dear boy.” Aziraphale ruffled his hair. “Now come on, I imagine we’ll worry the rest if we stay out too long.” 

They turned and made their way back to the palace. Aziraphale didn’t make Adam walk him to his room like Crowley had asked which was, of course, a mistake. Famine met him in the hallway and gave him and appraising look. 

“You’re well off for someone meant to be a slave,” Famine noted, hands in his pockets as he stepped closer to Aziraphale. “I don’t know what you or Crowley are playing at, but you ought to watch yourselves. King Adam has a plan and he will not be distracted from it.” 

“I don’t know what you’re referring to, sir,” Aziraphale replied. “King Adam asked me for a walk and who was I to deny him? I would not have gone if he had not asked.” 

“Right. Sure.” Famine stepped by him but paused and leaned down to his ear. “Watch your back, angel.” Then he was gone, footsteps echoing and then disappearing down the hallway. 

Aziraphale quickened his pace and made it back to their chambers, nearly crashing into Crowley when he arrived. 

“Angel?” 

Aziraphale shook his head. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to run into you.” 

“You look...tired,” Crowley replied, frowning. “Perhaps we ought to call it a night and have an early morning.” 

“Of course. Would you like me to do anything before bed?” 

“No, except put on the coffee.” 

“Yes, sir.” Aziraphale tried to pass Crowley who gripped his wrist then slid his hand down to Aziraphale’s and squeezed. Aziraphale squeezed back and then let go, moving to prepare the coffee. They got undressed and settled for bed in relative silence and once they were in the bedroom, Crowley snapped and the familiar wisp of magic told Aziraphale the room was protected. 

“Famine is suspicious,” Aziraphale said as he crawled into bed with Crowley. They’d set up a pile of blankets and such on the floor for him for when the wards were down, since Crowley had told him before the slaves usually slept on the ground, but for the moment he was able to be close to Crowley. “My walk with Adam did little to soothe those suspicions.” 

“Suspicions of what?” 

“I’m not entirely sure, he just thinks we want to undermine his plans.” Aziraphale sat beside Crowley on the bed and leaned into him. Crowley put his arm around him and pulled him close. 

“And what did Adam want to talk about?” 

“He has dreams of me,” Aziraphale admitted. “I’m not sure what to make of it but I think it might be a good sign. Whatever the case, he’s given us blanket permission to do what we need before the Horsemen launch their next phase.” 

Crowley brushed a kiss to his forehead then rested their heads together, eyes closing. “This is a lot of information.” 

“Yes.” He decided not to tell Crowley that he knew Madame Tracy. That was a piece of the puzzle that hadn’t quite slotted into any sort of meaningful space. 

“So earlier when you were being cagey, you think we were being watched?” 

“I think after my run-in with Famine I’d rather not take unnecessary risks. Once your wards are down I’ll be back to being an example slave until we leave this place in the morning.” 

“You’re going to sleep like shit,” Crowley pointed out. 

“I know.” Aziraphale sighed. “But at least I can use my wings. They’re quite fluffy and warm now that they’re well groomed.” 

Crowley looked proud. Aziraphale leaned in and kissed him gently. They lay back on the bed for a short time, exchanging kisses and nuzzles, soft touches, and absorbing each other’s warmth. Then Crowley pulled away with a sigh. 

“My wards will fade soon,” he said. 

“To the floor I go, then.” Aziraphale slid down to the pile of blankets and pillows that had been left for him, arranging them into a makeshift bed. He pulled his wings out and fluffed them, settling in and wrapping them around him. 

Crowley reached over the bed and drew his fingers over them. “You look like a nesting owl.” 

“Good,” Aziraphale murmured. “Because I feel like one.” 

“Goodnight, angel,” Crowley whispered. “Tomorrow we’ll be somewhere where we can share a bed.” 

“I’d hope so,” he paused. “Goodnight, demon.” 

Crowley snorted and shut off the light. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates Tuesdays and Fridays!
> 
> You can come hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/).


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley take their investigation to Tadfield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is Tuesday! Happy New Year's Eve everyone. I hope whatever you're doing this evening, wherever you are, that 2020 ends up bringing you blessings beyond measure. 
> 
> For now, enjoy.

Aziraphale spent a restless night on the floor, catching short naps but always waking up from kicking off the blanket, bumping into the foot of the bed, or any number of discomforts that came from sleeping on the ground. He was up early as a result, leaving Crowley to snooze as he prepared coffee and tea and tried to chase away the fatigue. He missed not needing to sleep. 

Crowley joined him not long after, lured out by the smell of coffee and promise of breakfast. They were summoned by Adam to a final meal, a light breakfast before they left. They submitted, surprised it was only Adam and Madame Tracy that morning as opposed to the Horsemen. Perhaps Famine was assured that his message had been received. 

“You’ll come back once you’re done with your errands, right?” Adam asked both of them, looking between them. 

“‘Course I will. I’ve still got to find the best hiding spot.” Crowley ruffled his hair. “You be good, kid. Or bad. Or be good by being bad. I’ve never really gotten that straight.” 

Adam playfully pushed his hand away. “You’re silly.” 

“That I am. We’ll be back, you stay well alright?” 

“Yes Crowley. Aziraphale, it was nice to meet you. I hope I’ll see you again soon, too.” There was something in the child’s eyes that caught Aziraphale’s attention, something knowing, something a small bit sad. It was there for a moment and then gone, vanished into a youthful joy. 

They got into the Bentley and began to drive. Aziraphale was impressed the streets were in any shape to drive on but Crowley admitted to using miracles at certain points. The road was clear because he expected it to be, and the road was not about to cross him. 

“So Tadfield,” he said once they were well away from the city. “What’s so important about a tiny place like that?” 

“Everything, I think.” Aziraphale watched the familiar countryside flash by the window, except it wasn’t so familiar. Green grass was brown and black, trees dying, some homes collapsed through while others still stood. He only hoped Tadfield was still in decent shape, that the players he hoped to find there were still alive and well. 

“It is hard to look at,” Crowley said and Aziraphale glanced at him, startled. 

“Yes. Yes it is.” 

“How’s the uh, nausea? Generally bad feelings about the world?” 

“I’ve grown somewhat used to it but it weighs on me.” Aziraphale leaned his head against the window, suddenly very tired. 

“Hey.” Crowley reached over and squeezed Aziraphale’s knee. “Sleep.” 

And he did, drifting to the purr of the Bentley’s engine. 

_ Static. It was the static again and he tried to push through it, cast about for anything to grab onto. His senses were scrambled and he couldn’t figure out left from right, down from up. Aziraphale was lost in the incessant buzz. _

_ “Soon, Aziraphale,” a soothing voice said from somewhere, every word crackling. “Come find me.” _

_ Then there was more static, and finally nothing except spiraling darkness. _

“Angel,” Crowley shook him awake. They were stopped in a familiar town that was strangely peaceful. It looked as though it hadn’t been touched by the apocalypse, except for the lack of people wandering outside. “We’re here.” 

“I can see that. It feels...safe. Loved.” Aziraphale frowned, confused. Why would this place still be loved? Why would it still have Adam’s protection? 

“Hey!” Someone knocked on the driver’s side window and both of them jumped, startled. Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he recognized the face. 

“Anathema!” He got out of the car before Crowley could ask him what he was thinking. “Anathema my dear girl you are a sight for sore eyes.” 

“She was right,” Anathema said, walking to meet Aziraphale in front of the Bentley. “She said you’d know me.” 

“Agnes?” 

“Yes. It is nice to not have to explain everything for once. Tell your demon friend to drive down to Jasmine Cottage and park outside. We’ll meet him there.” 

“Excuse me but this ‘demon friend’ isn’t going anywhere without a little more information,” Crowley snapped as he got out of the car, coming to stand protectively at Aziraphale’s side, putting a shoulder between he and Anathema. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale reached out and touched his shoulder, squeezing it. “Trust her.” 

Crowley looked at him then back at Anathema and snarled a bit. “Fine. But if any harm comes to him…” 

“Then we’re all doomed,” Anathema replied dryly. 

Crowley got back into the car and started to drive, Aziraphale and Anathema walking after him. 

“I take it you don’t remember,” Aziraphale guessed. 

“I don’t know what there is to remember.” Anathema gave him a look from the corner of her eye. “I only know that Agnes wrote multiple prophesies about you and your friend over there, and if there’s any chance of saving the world you’re it.” 

“No pressure.” 

Anathema laughed and it was a welcome sound. “Not in the least. You should be safe in the cottage, I’ve warded it left and right. Agnes left pretty clear instructions about that.” 

“Always prepared, that one.” Aziraphale took a breath in and enjoyed the clean air. “This place is untouched by the apocalypse.” 

“Yes. No idea why, but it is where Agnes suggested I set up shop. It was hard to watch the world end around me, but I can’t really complain. Tadfield has missed the worst of it.” 

“Indeed. That’s interesting to consider.” It wasn’t a long walk to Jasmine Cottage and by the time they arrived Crowley was glaring at a young man Aziraphale recognized as Newton. 

“See, sir? There they are,” Newt looked over and smiled. “Anathema, this lovely gentleman wanted us both to know that if we are tricking anyone we’ll be sorry.” 

“Lots of tricks, none of them directed at either of you. Come on inside, I’ve made tea.” 

“Oh, tea,” Aziraphale perked up at that and took Crowley’s arm, leading him into the cottage. Once they entered Crowley sniffed the air and looked over at Anathema, startled. 

“Impressive,” he said. “These wards...they’re beyond what most humans dabbling in the occult can accomplish.” 

“Yes, well, I don’t _ dabble_,” Anathema replied curtly as she began to dress up a few mugs of tea. “I’m a witch and I know what I’m doing.” 

“Clearly.” He did a circuit around the living room, reaching out to touch a horseshoe that sparked and made him grimace as he yanked his hand back. 

They settled into the sitting room, Aziraphale sipping his tea while Crowley looked at his own suspiciously. “So would someone like to explain why we were expected?” 

Anathema looked to Aziraphale who motioned for her to have the honor. It was her story to tell. 

“I’m a descendant of a witch named Agnes Nutter, who published a book of _ Nice and Accurate Prophecies_. It was and is the only entirely correct book of prophecies ever written. A few different ones were about the two of you.” Anathema lifted the book that was so familiar to Aziraphale and handed it over. “My family has spent centuries decoding her prophecies, all the way to the end of the world.” 

“Right.” Crowley glanced at Aziraphale. “So then what’s next? What’s the point?” 

“I’m glad you asked.” She leaned over the coffee table and flipped the book in Aziraphale’s hand open to a later page, pointing at it. 

From what Aziraphale could make out, it seemed that the prophecy suggested the solution they sought would be found in friends. “I’m afraid I don’t entirely know what that means. Are you the friend?” 

“I don’t think so. This is where I think we need your help. What do you know of Heaven and Hell’s roles in all of this?” 

It was strange for Aziraphale to realize how little information the humans had. They had been isolated in a tiny town away from the worst of the destruction without any idea of what the stakes really were. 

“We’re going to need a lot more tea, my dear.” He started to explain. He told her about the apocalypse, about Heaven and Hell and the loss, what it led to, the current structures of power. Sometimes she took notes, other times she merely held onto Newt’s hand and listened. Crowley watched Aziraphale the entire time, eyes trained on him intently. 

By the time he’d shared all the information he’d had it had been well over an hour and everyone collectively sighed and leaned back. 

“That’s...a lot,” Anathema admitted. “But a few other things are starting to click into place.” She gently took the book back and began flipping through it. 

“Dinner,” Crowley said suddenly as he stood up. “I should make dinner. You,” he pointed at Newt. “Show me where your groceries are.” 

“O-oh, right. And it is Newt.” He stood up and led Crowley into the kitchen. Aziraphale watched them go, frowning, but he would talk to Crowley privately later. He hadn’t told him everything that he’d told Anathema, particularly the details of the first averted apocalypse in his time. 

“What do you think, my dear?” Aziraphale asked. 

“I think we’ve got to find a few more people, and I think some of those kids you mentioned live in this village.” 

“I’d imagine if we’re lucky, all of them do,” he admitted. “The question is whether or not we can convince them and their parents they ought to come with us.” 

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, what do you think about this prophecy?” They spent the next hour reading and working, writing things down and discussing, while sounds came from the kitchen. Soon smells followed, and Aziraphale’s stomach rumbled. 

“Didn’t think angels could get hungry,” Anathema said. 

“They do when they wear a collar like this,” he replied, pointing to it. “It drains my abilities.” 

“Do you need to wear it now that you’re not in Hell?” 

“I don’t...know.” He hadn’t really thought about it. “I’m not sure removing it actually returns my powers. I think regardless I’d hurt myself either way. We should go into all of this assuming as much.” 

“Right.” She frowned. “But your demon friend -” 

“Crowley,” he inserted gently. 

“Crowley,” Anathema conceded. “He’s got all his powers?” 

“Certainly.” 

“That’s something.” 

“There’s food,” Crowley snapped from the entryway to the kitchen. “Come eat.” 

Aziraphale sighed and shot Anathema a helpless look before he got up and went into the tiny dining room. They crowded around a round table and dug into a simple meal of ham, potatoes, and broccoli. It was good, all things considered, and Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hand under the table and laced their fingers together. 

For the first time since they’d arrived, Crowley relaxed and squeezed his hand. 

After dinner, Aziraphale filled Crowley and Newt in on the discussion. 

“The themes, as they are, seem to involve helping Adam find his humanity again. That’s what saved the world the first time and I think, based on a conversation I had with him, that some part of him remembers.” 

“So let me get this straight,” Crowley began and Aziraphale winced at the skepticism in his voice. “We find the kids who were this other Adam’s friends, gather them together, bring Adam here, and hope that he remembers? That he then agrees to fix whatever it is that’s broken? When we don’t even know what’s actually broken?” 

It was the one hole in their plan. Aziraphale assumed whatever caused the shift in events rested with Adam, but he didn’t know what the boy could have done to create this new reality. Static came to mind and he remembered his dream and frowned. 

“Angel?” Crowley touched his hand. 

“Hm?” 

“You zoned out for a minute,” Crowley said gently. 

“I must be tired,” Aziraphale assured him with a pat on his hand. “I didn’t get much rest last night.” 

“Well, I think we’ve done all we can do tonight anyway. We ought to get some rest and see about wrangling the village kids in the morning.” 

“Of course.” 

“There’s a guest room upstairs,” Anathema offered. “It isn’t much, but it is something. Feel free to use towels, soap, whatever else. Our home is your home.” 

“Thank you, my dear. You have been more than accommodating.” 

“Hey, it isn’t every day I get to host representatives of Heaven and Hell.” She smiled. “Go clean up and get some rest.” 

They did. Crowley bullied Aziraphale into the shower and even though it was cramped with the two of them fighting to get under the water it was nice to be close. For a while he leaned against Crowley with his head on his shoulder, warm water pounding against his back. Then they switched, Crowley grumbling about Aziraphale hogging the water. Bumping elbows and hips, they finally cleaned up and Crowley miracled them soft pajamas. 

The bed was a double but they smashed onto it until Crowley was wrapped up around Aziraphale, and Aziraphale could hear the steady beat of Crowley’s heart. 

“It was strange listening to you talk about the end of the world that wasn’t.” Crowley ran his fingers through Aziraphale’s curls gently. “Stranger to try and picture it.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. It seemed difficult enough to get you to believe that I knew you, let alone the details. I figured it would be easier for information to come out as it was relevant.” 

“Right.” Crowley was quiet, but his hand continued carding through Aziraphale’s hair, fingers tickling his scalp. “And us.” 

“And us?” Aziraphale murmured. 

“I don’t know. I guess…” He sighed. “Never mind.” 

“Crowley.” Aziraphale shifted up onto his knees between Crowley’s legs and hovered over him, staring down into goldenrod eyes. “My dear.” 

“We weren’t like this, were we?” Crowley ran his hands down Aziraphale’s back and, just to make his point, down to his ass to pull their hips together. Aziraphale sucked in a breath and lowered his forehead to Crowley’s collarbone. 

“No, my darling.” 

“But you wanted to be?” He sounded hopeful. 

“Crowley…” It was painful to think about, even more painful to try and put words to it. He laid down on his side, pressed along Crowley’s, an arm draped over his waist and his head on his shoulder. “Yes, if you must know.” 

“But you never said anything.” 

“No. I imagine I was quite dense most of the time and always thought tomorrow would be an option. Hundreds of years later and I still said nothing, too frightened that someone would hurt you. Er. Him. That one or both of us would be punished.” He ran his hand down Crowley’s chest and turned his head to hide his face. “I’m not proud of it.” 

“Hm.” Crowley reached for the hand on his chest and held it over his heart. “I think something happened that second time I claimed you. I think we became something more.” He admitted it as if it had been a weight on his chest. Maybe it had been. 

“I think so too,” Aziraphale replied. 

“I think I love you,” Crowley whispered and there was _ fear _ in his voice. 

“Oh, Crowley.” 

“No, no. If you don’t love me, that’s fine. I don’t expect it.” 

“_Crowley_,” Aziraphale huffed and Crowley fell quiet. This wasn’t what Aziraphale expected to talk about. He didn’t think feelings would need to come to the surface this soon. He wasn’t sure if the feelings were _ right_, if it was fair to tell Crowley that yes, of course he loved him back, when at the end of this all he wasn’t sure either of them could be together. 

There were too many possibilities. He took too long to answer and Crowley fidgeted. 

“Look, angel, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said anything.” 

“I love you too, Crowley.” There was silence. 

“What?” Crowley croaked. 

Aziraphale sighed and leaned in to nuzzle against his jaw, laying a kiss there. “I love you.” 

“Oh.” 

Aziraphale slid his hand beneath Crowley’s shirt, fingers teasing along his waist, up his stomach. He was warm and he twitched beneath the attention. “I love you,” he said again, because it felt nice to put the words out there. To say it and mean it and know it was reciprocated. 

“Angel.” Crowley shifted so they were on their sides facing each other, one of his hands reaching out to pull Aziraphale close to him. “I love you too.” 

They kissed. It was a soft thing, all lazy heat with no particular destination in mind. Crowley’s hands wandered, as did Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale pressed a leg between Crowley’s and enjoyed the way he rocked against his thigh, loved the way he whined in the back of his throat. They didn’t take it any further than that, because Aziraphale whispered a reminder that they were guests and the walls were likely not thick. 

They settled. Warm and assured and in love and Aziraphale wished they could hide away forever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates Tuesdays & Fridays! 
> 
> Come hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/) and talk my ear off about Good Omens. 
> 
> I also take writing/prompt commissions, if anyone is ever interested in having me write something specifically for them! I also wrote a little Good Omens holiday gift exchange fic in case you're still craving a little bit of Christmas. It is called [Snow Angel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21883684).


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley talk to The Them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you as always for reading my loves. I hope you all have had a good start to the New Year. 
> 
> One thing before we get into this chapter: note that I have not forgotten the 'major character death' warning, nor have I tagged for it. So whatever happens, take that as a clue and _trust me_. This is a story with a happy ending. If you need a more specific reassurance after this chapter, hit me up on my twitter or tumblr (linked in the end notes).

The conversation they’d had the night before returned to Aziraphale upon waking, Crowley’s face slack with sleep and pressed to Aziraphale’s chest. He wrapped his arms around him, comforted by the rise and fall of Crowley’s chest. He  _ did _ love Crowley, but his feelings for this particular version of his best friend made what they had to do all the more complicated. 

In spite of it, he couldn’t deny himself the comfort. Some angel he was, taking what he shouldn’t, selfishly absorbing and sharing love with someone who might not be there once everything was made right. He sighed and ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair gently, testing to see if he would stir. 

He did, but only to grumble and snuggle closer. Aziraphale did it again, tickling the back of Crowley’s neck, but it was hopeless. If the lazy old serpent didn’t want to get up he wouldn’t. So Aziraphale slipped carefully out of his embrace and made sure he was covered with a blanket before he slinked out of the room. 

Downstairs he found Anathema sitting at the kitchen table, a couple different books open. She glanced up as he stepped into the kitchen and offered him a little smile. 

“Kettle is on if you want tea. Newt usually likes a cup when he wakes up.” 

“And you Americans don’t?” Aziraphale asked, amused and teasing. 

“I don’t have a strong opinion,” Anathema replied. “Sometimes I indulge, sometimes I don’t.” 

“You don’t happen to have a coffee maker, do you?” 

“You’re a coffee drinker?” 

“No, but Crowley is.” 

Anathema’s face softened. “I’ve got a French press and some grounds in that cupboard over there.” 

Aziraphale walked over to the cupboard she pointed to and found the press and the grounds. He set about adding the grounds, pouring hot water from the kettle over them. Letting them settle, he set out to make himself a cup of tea. 

“Are you doing that because you’re his slave?” Anathema asked. Still a bold girl in this life too, it would seem. Agnes would be proud. 

“No.” Aziraphale brought his tea over to the table and set it down. “I do it because I know he likes it, and when he wakes up to fresh coffee it will make him smile despite hating mornings.” 

“Ah.” She looked a bit abashed. “So you two are together then.” 

Aziraphale took a deep breath and sat down. “As much as we can be given the circumstances. It is complicated.” 

“I imagine so.” Anathema worried a notecard in her hands. “Look, I wanted to wait until I could get you alone to show you this.” She slid it across the table. Aziraphale glanced down at it. 

He read it once, then twice, and looked back up at her. 

“It is one of her clearer ones, I think,” she said quietly. 

“I can see that.” His gaze dropped back to the innocent piece of paper. So that is what it was going to be, then. “We have a lot of work to do, my dear.” 

“Better drink your tea.” 

Crowley came down about half an hour later, dressed despite Aziraphale still being in his pajamas. He walked over to the French press where the coffee had grown cold and with a tap, Aziraphale saw steam rise off of it again. He smiled. 

“I’m going to go gather a few things we might need,” Anathema insisted. She closed her books and gathered them up into her arms. 

“We’re just going to go find some children,” Aziraphale pointed out. 

“Exactly.” She raised her eyebrows as if that were the whole point, then left the room. Crowley wandered over and stood beside Aziraphale’s chair, a mug of coffee in hand. He leaned down and kissed his curls. 

“Good morning angel.” 

“Good morning, dear boy.” He tilted his head back to gaze up at Crowley, smiling. Crowley took the chance to steal a peck on the lips. 

“Thanks for the coffee.” 

“You’re quite welcome.” Aziraphale reached out and put his arm around Crowley’s waist, turning to press his face into his side. He breathed him in. Crowley scratched his head affectionately and they stayed like that for a minute before they pulled apart. 

“What’s on the docket today?” 

“Well, I need to get dressed but after that I think the plan is to find the Them.” 

“The Them?” Crowley’s brow creased. 

“Er, that’s what the children called themselves. I’m not sure if that’s still their group name without Adam at the head, but I’m hopeful they’re all still friends.” 

“Right. Have you had breakfast yet?” 

“No, not quite. Just tea.” 

“I’ll make you something,” Crowley insisted. “You should go get dressed.” 

Aziraphale’s heart ached and he stood up and kissed Crowley’s cheek. “Thank you, my dear. I won’t be too long.” 

“Hope not, angel.” 

He ascended the stairs and tried to chase away the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Aziraphale stared at himself in the mirror after he was dressed, straightening out his tie. It fit strangely around his collar but he was loathe to go without either. They had a long day ahead of them and he wasn’t quite sure how it would end. 

Back downstairs, he found Crowley had scrambled eggs and made some toast. It was enough to lure Newt in who immediately went to the kettle before taking some breakfast for himself. The three of them crowded around the tiny dining room table and ate in the quiet of the morning as Anathema, wherever she was, prepared for their mission. 

By late morning they were as ready as they could be and struck out into the little town of Tadfield. It looked the same as it had when Aziraphale had last seen it, except quiet. Despite not being touched by the apocalypse, it seemed the folks in town still kept to themselves. They would certainly draw curious eyes traveling in a group like theirs, but it couldn’t be helped. 

“They hang out in the Hogback Woods,” Anathema said. “They’ve got some sort of fort back there.” 

“Their parents let them wander around?” Aziraphale asked, surprised. 

“Yeah, well, I imagine it is to everyone’s benefit. They’re rather rambunctious from what I’ve seen.” 

He thought about Pepper shoving a sword into War and had to admit that rambunctious was definitely one word to describe the children. Fierce was another. Perhaps there was hope after all. 

Aziraphale wasn’t particularly fond of the woods, or the way bushes kept catching on the leg of his trousers. Crowley remained close, sometimes close enough to keep a hand on his lower back, and seemed to handle nature better than he did. At least  _ he _ had miracles to help him along. Aziraphale was powerless to the dirt and leaves all around him. He tried not to grumble about it. 

“Freeze!” Something pressed against Aziraphale’s side and Crowley immediately pushed him ahead of him and turned on whoever had shouted. 

It turned out it was a gangly boy with dirt on his trousers and shirt, a large stick in his hands. He brandished it at Crowley. “Intruders! State your intentions!” 

“We’ve caught you!” It was Pepper’s voice, Aziraphale realized. She was on the other side, brandishing an equally large stick. In front of them was the mousy boy who looked like a future accountant. His stick was far smaller and he seemed less like he wanted to brandish it and more like he wanted to talk it all out. 

“Actually, Brian, Pepper, I don’t think we should try to capture adults.” 

“You’re no fun, Wensleydale. Don’t show weakness in the face of a challenge!” Pepper encouraged him. 

Wensleydale brandished his tiny stick. “I’m not sure this is going to work.” 

“What happens if we surrender?” Anathema asked. 

“Er,” said Brian. 

“We hadn’t gotten that far,” Wensleydale admitted. 

“We’ll imprison you!” Pepper shouted with confidence, waving her stick as she walked around the group and stood beside Wensleydale. “You can’t wander into our territory and not expect to be captured.” 

“You’re quite right,” Anathema admitted. “We should have asked permission. I have, however, brought some sweets with me if you might be persuaded to view us as guests instead of prisoners.” 

“What  _ kind _ of sweets?” Pepper inquired, eyeing the basket Anathema carried. 

“Some biscuits, the kind with icing. And some pear drops.” 

“Those are pretty good,” Brian whispered as he inched over to his friends. “Haven’t had biscuits since everything happened ‘cept the kind my mom made. They didn’t have icing.” 

“Hm.” Pepper eyed the group. “We should see what you’re offering before we accept.” 

“Of course.” Anathema pulled the package of biscuits out of her basket and showed it to them. “See?” 

Pepper glanced between Wensleydale and Brian who nodded and then looked back at Anathema. “Fine. You can come to our lair as our  _ guests _ , but no funny business! We protect these woods.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of starting any funny business,” Anathema assured them. She shot a look back to Aziraphale and the rest before they were led as a group by the children back toward a cobbled together fort. Everyone sat on an assortment of stumps, logs, and chairs. The adults looked awkward, but the children looked right at home as they sampled the goods. 

“So what’re you doin’ in the woods?” Brian asked through a mouthful of biscuit. Aziraphale grimaced. 

“We were looking for you, actually.” Anathema took the lead, which was probably for the best. 

“Why?” Pepper asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

“Well, we’re on a bit of a mission. You see, there’s a boy we think might like to meet you.” 

“Who?” Pepper, again. “We’ve met everyone in Tadfield and we don’t need anyone else in our gang.” 

“He’s not in Tadfield. He’s in London and his name is Adam.” 

“ _ King _ Adam?” Wensleydale asked, his eyes widening behind his glasses. 

“No, you idiot. Why would King Adam want to meet us?” Pepper shot back, scowling. “Be serious.” 

“He’s not wrong,” Anathema admitted. “We know King Adam, and he’s been a bit lonely recently. We thought if he had some friends, maybe it would cheer him up.” 

Aziraphale grimaced. To him, the premise seemed flimsy and he wasn’t sure it would be enough to convince the children. 

“He seems like a bit of a twat,” Pepper replied primly. 

“ _ Pepper _ ,” Wensleydale chastised. “You can’t call him that!”

“I just did and he hasn’t come down to smite me, has he?” She shot back. “And he is. I heard my mum say it. He’s the reason everything is terrible outside of Tadfield.” 

“But not in Tadfield,” Anathema murmured. “Strange, isn’t it?” 

“I suppose,” Pepper replied, side-eyeing her. 

“I bet he has the best games,” Brian said wistfully. Pepper elbowed him. 

“If we could bring him here to Tadfield would you be willing to meet him?” Anathema asked. The trio fell silent and exchanged glances. 

“Well,” Wensleydale began. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” 

“He’s dangerous,” Pepper chimed in. “And I’m perfectly fine with him continuing to ignore Tadfield.” 

“Yeah,” said Brian with a frown. 

“What if I told you that you three might be able to change his mind about the state of the world?” Aziraphale asked quietly, surprised by his own voice. He was speaking to  _ children _ , and children who were likely too bright to be convinced to put themselves or their home at risk. He had to try, though. 

Pepper lifted her chin and nailed him with a stare. It was quiet permission to go on. 

“You listen to each other, right?” Aziraphale asked, watching as the children considered and then nodded. “Kids tend to. He’s a kid, despite all of his power and abilities and the things he’s done. He’s still no less a child than any of you, and you’re all of an age. Perhaps if he had friends his age he might listen to them. To you.” 

“Well, he’s got a point,” Wensleydale offered. 

“Who are  _ you _ ?” Pepper asked. 

“My name is Aziraphale, this is Crowley.” 

“Those are weird names,” Brian murmured to Wensleydale who nodded in agreement. Aziraphale wondered how a boy with the name Wensleydale could be one to judge a name as ‘weird’. 

“And I’m Anathema.” 

“The witch who lives at Jasmine Cottage, I know. I’m not stupid.” Pepper rolled her eyes. “We know all about you.” 

“And I’m Newt.” 

The children all looked at him and then Pepper looked back at Aziraphale. “ _ If _ you could convince King Adam to come here and not decide to destroy everything, then  _ maybe _ we would consider playing with him for a little bit. Only if he’s got good games, though. Just because he’s King doesn’t give him an excuse to play shoddy games.” 

Aziraphale was amazed by Pepper’s gumption. When faced with the potential end of their town, she was worried about having to entertain someone she found boring. Nevermind that he was the antichrist and had access to  _ magic _ . Being dull was not likely something Adam would suffer from. 

“I think that’s absolutely reasonable,” Aziraphale replied. He didn’t, not really, but if it meant the children would at least consider it then it was a victory. 

“Why don’t we go back to the cottage and talk more about it?” Anathema asked. “I can make everyone lunch. I’ve got the makings for cucumber sandwiches.” 

“Oh I  _ love _ those,” Brian grinned. 

“I should ask my mum first,” Wensleydale murmured. 

“Oh come on,” Pepper said with a huff. “We can go to lunch. We’re not leaving the town or anything, we’ll be  _ fine _ .” 

Eventually they all agreed and, sticks in hand, they accompanied Aziraphale and the rest out of the woods. They made their way down the empty street toward Jasmine Cottage when a crack of energy filled the air. 

Aziraphale immediately moved to the front of the group. “Get them inside the house,  _ now _ .” 

Anathema hurried Wensleydale and Newt grabbed Brian by the scruff and directed them toward the house. Crowley followed, but when Aziraphale turned he realized Pepper was looking around, not following the group. 

“Pepper,  _ go _ .” 

“What’s goin’ on?” She brandished her stick. The familiar and dark figure of Famine materialized behind her and yanked it out of her hand, throwing it aside. He pulled a dagger from somewhere behind him and grabbed her, holding the dagger to her throat. 

“Stay still, child,” Famine murmured, “and you will go home unharmed. Same to you, angel.” 

“Aziraphale!” Crowley shouted and when Aziraphale chanced a glance over he watched as Anathema yanked him back inside. The wards, he realized. They would repel even the Horsemen, at least for a while. Everyone inside was safe. His gaze switched back to Famine. He just needed to get him away from Pepper. 

“Famine,” Aziraphale greeted. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

“Indeed. Strange how you keep ending up where you don’t belong.” 

“Not quite sure what you mean. My Master had business on Earth and I’ve accompanied him.” 

Famine scoffed. “Come on now, we know that’s not the whole truth.” With the knife still pressed to Pepper’s throat he reached into a satchel with his free hand and yanked out a familiar leatherbound journal. 

Aziraphale’s heart leapt into his throat. 

“This tells a different story doesn’t it?” Famine waved it in the air and then tossed it aside. “You have all sorts of plans and ideas. I’d like to pretend that Crowley was oblivious to them but I don’t know how that could be unless he chose not to read it. I suppose there’s enough plausible deniability that he wouldn’t be punished under the right circumstances.” 

“Those being…?” Aziraphale tried not to grit his teeth and purposely didn’t look at where the journal lay on the ground. He hadn’t checked his bag after leaving London. He had been foolish to think their accomodations were secure. 

“I did warn you not to mess around Aziraphale,” Famine pointed out. “I was fine letting you and your Master go but I didn’t expect you to be actively planning a coup. You want to overthrow Adam? End the apocalypse? I don’t know why you think you’re capable of such things but I obviously can’t allow that to happen.” 

Aziraphale said nothing. There was nothing to say. He wasn’t made for lying convincingly and the evidence was damning. It was, after all, in his own hand. “So there’s a deal to be made then?” 

Famine smiled and it was a grotesque thing that brought shadows to his face. “There’s always a deal to be made. I don’t think you’ll like this one much but you certainly get the most out of it.” 

“I’m all ears.” 

“I’ll release the girl, I’ll let Crowley go back to Hell and live whatever sad life he wants to down there, I’ll send a note to Prince Beelzebub and have them revoke Crowley’s credentials and connection to the antichrist. I’ll even make sure that Tadfield is left in one piece, since you seem to have some strange fondness for this little garbage dump. At least, it will be left in one piece until we rend the world entire.” Famine shrugged. “Then it won’t matter much anyway, will it?” 

“And what is the cost?” 

“Your life, angel.” Famine’s smile disappeared into a dark and serious expression. “Your immortal life obliterated, torn into shreds, destroyed, never to return. You seem to be the rabble rouser here and I believe removing you from the picture will solve most of my problems.” 

“My life for all of that?” Aziraphale asked. 

“I’ll even shake on it,” Famine offered. 

Aziraphale made eye contact with Pepper who nodded. “Now, Pepper.” 

She stomped on Famine’s foot and he loosened his hold on the dagger long enough for her to dash from where she was to the front door of the house. He’d sealed his fate with that as Famine began to laugh. 

Searing pain hit him from behind and he glanced down, startled to see the flaming tip of a blade sticking out of his chest. “Oh. Wondered where that had gotten off to.” 

War laughed behind him even as she yanked the sword from his body and he collapsed to the ground. It burned him from the inside. The piercing pain had been bad enough but now flames were licking through his corporation’s blood stream, eating away his organs, and beyond that they began to consume his shimmering, ethereal form. 

His wings were alight with flames and they jumped from one to another as he screamed. 

“Aziraphale!” He heard Crowley’s pained cry as his vision began to blacken at the edges. So this was what death felt like. Perhaps this was what falling was like, too. 

“I’m sorry, Crowley,” he whispered, his mouth full of golden-red blood that he coughed onto the ground. His whole body heaved as he vomited another glut of blood. 

“I’ll keep my end of the bargain,” Famine said from somewhere above him, a disembodied voice. “I’m a being of my word, at least.” 

Then there was nothing anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates Tuesdays & Fridays! 
> 
> If you need to come yell, you can hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) or [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/). I'm offering free unlimited virtual hugs and gentle head pats.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL. Let me just say I've been blown away by the responses to the last chapter. Thank you for your comments, your compliments, and your screeching. I live for this and it excites me as a writer to see everyone actually enjoy the PLOT I'm writing!
> 
> ...yes, I know it isn't Tuesday. But some kind folks on Twitter sent me some bribes to post up the new chapter as a bonus chapter, so you'll be able to thank them for getting a chapter early! There will still be another chapter on Tuesday, resuming the normal posting schedule.

It took Anathema and Newt to yank Crowley away from the door as he howled in anger. He tried to toss a demonic miracle out the door but it was slammed shut. He tried to open it, but it burned his hand. 

“You  _ blessed it _ !” He shouted as he tried the same on a window only to find the same thing. “You - you...how!” Crowley stomped and didn’t even care that the children were watching him with wide eyes. 

“I didn’t,” Anathema insisted. 

Crowley stopped dead in his tracks and his blood turned to ice. He slowly looked at Anathema. “I’m sorry?” 

“I didn’t bless the house.” She put her hands on her hips and stared at him. 

“What are you saying?” 

“I’m saying that Aziraphale did it while you were asleep this morning. He made it so once you were back in here, you couldn’t get out. Not without help.” 

“Liar,” Crowley growled. “ _ Liar _ .” He advanced on her and Newt stepped between them. 

“Now look here,” Newt said in his good natured way that pissed Crowley right off and made him see red. 

“Move out of the way.” Crowley snarled and shoved Newt to the ground so he could stand in front of Anathema. She lifted her chin and continued to stare. She was unafraid of him, so set in the belief that what she had done was  _ right _ . It ignited a fire inside of Crowley that made him want to strike out at anything and everything. 

Instead he growled and stalked off to the front window to stare at the now-empty street. Any sign of Aziraphale had burned up in the wake of his death and Crowley stared at the spot where he’d been. His chest hurt. 

“He knew this would happen,” Anathema said softly as she approached. “He knew it needed to happen.” 

Crowley turned back to her, each of her words a dull knife cutting away at what remained of his heart. He was so cold. He’d lost Aziraphale. “That doesn’t make any sense, he would have told me.” 

“Perhaps not. Perhaps he meant to but didn’t have time…” Anathema grimaced. “Whatever the case, here.” She handed him a note card. 

He read it, then read it again, and then tore it up with an agonized shout as he tossed the shredded paper. “Get away from me, all of you.” 

Anathema stepped out of the way as he headed for the stairs and stomped up them, walking straight into the bedroom they’d occupied the night before. He dropped onto the bed, buried his face in the pillow that still smelled like Aziraphale, and screamed. 

** 

“How strange,” Aziraphale murmured as he opened his eyes and found he still had consciousness. He was certain he had been burned from the inside out, obliterated from existence. Yet there he lay, staring into inky blackness that blurred into static at the edges. 

AZIRAPHALE, ANGEL OF THE EASTERN GATE. YOU’RE LATE.

He sat up and recognized the familiar black robes of Death. “I didn’t realize I had an appointment.” 

YOU WOULDN’T HAVE, I SUPPOSE. 

A bony hand reached out and Aziraphale took it, pulled effortlessly to his feet. He glanced down and found his attire to be pure white, similar to what he’d worn when he’d been discorporated. That did not bode well for him, but it was better than permanent death. Though that didn’t explain…

“Sorry, old chap, but where exactly am I?” It wasn’t Heaven, it wasn’t Hell, nor did it seem to be anywhere in between. Or perhaps that’s exactly where it was. The room was white, fading into black, which faded into the din of snowy static all around. 

THE ROOM, Death replied without moving their mouth. IT DOESN’T HAVE A NAME AS I DON’T BELIEVE IT IS AN ACTUAL PLACE. COME. YOU HAVE BEEN EXPECTED AND SHE HAS WAITED LONG ENOUGH. 

“Who has?” Aziraphale asked with growing dread. Death said nothing more and turned, leading Aziraphale through an archway as white as the rest of the room into what appeared to be a chapel. Unlike the other room which had been nothing but white, this was all grey stone and stained glass windows reflecting an unknown light source. Yet when he glanced up the grey walls faded into black and then static, just like the others had. 

More importantly, however, was the figure seated in a pew in the front row. The form was different but the presence was the same. She carried a certain magnitude of power with Her, even now in this strange place, that Aziraphale recognized. 

His heart ached with love for Her, with longing. He hadn’t seen Her face in so long and now here she was. Even the circumstances couldn’t quench his desire to be close to Her so he walked on quick feet to Her side and then slid to his knees in front of her. 

“Aziraphale.” Her voice was softer than he remembered, but Her hands were warm as She reached out with both of them and touched the top of his head. “Rise. Sit with Me. I’m glad you’re here.” 

Aziraphale obeyed. He rose from the ground and beneath Her hands to sit beside Her on the pew. He glanced at Her, took in the dark curls of hair framing a tanned face, eyes golden, bright, and endless. There were no pupils, no whites, just endless flaming gold. 

He looked away, at the ground. Looking at the Lord too long could make anyone go mad. 

“Where are we?” He asked. 

She sighed. “Imprisoned.” 

“Oh.” Aziraphale glanced over at the aisle where Death stood. “Death too?” 

“No. They are here as an ally. They can come and go from this place as they please, the gate doesn’t bother them thankfully.” 

Aziraphale frowned. “The gate?” 

She pointed up toward the static. “The static, Aziraphale. That’s what made this all so difficult. I would have figured out a way to pull you here sooner if I could have been clearer but...I was left with nothing but dreams to offer. Even those were difficult.” 

“That’s a gate?” 

“Gate, cage. Whatever it is, it is a type of divine intervention. As in, it is preventing the Divine from intervening.” She tapped Her feet against the ground in a nervous gesture. “I still have all My power, it is just contained in this place. I’ll eventually break out but it could be eons before I gather enough strength.” 

“Death can’t help?” 

I CAN ONLY COME AND GO. I CANNOT TAKE HER WITH ME. I WAS LUCKY I COULD BRING YOU HERE, AND YOU ARE LUCKY I CAN TAKE YOU BACK. 

“Take me back? Alright, I don’t mean to be pushy but I’m at a bit of a loss. Can we start from the beginning? How did you end up here?” 

God smiled. “Adam.” 

“Adam. Right.” Aziraphale hesitated and then fell silent as the Lord side-eyed him. 

“When he set reality back the way he thought it ought to be there was one prevailing thought that got caught up in the rest. It was subconscious, I don’t think he intended any of this, but in the transition he locked Me away. He thought I ought not meddle in the affairs of man any longer.” 

So he locked Her away in a divine prison, Aziraphale realized as he looked around the room anew. “Why did that change the course of things? I remember walking through the bookshop after it was restored, going to the Ritz with Crowley...things were fine.” 

“It took a bit for My power and influence to be contained. I don’t always actively move pieces. Much of what happens in the world is passive, set into action by the rules My powers give credence to. Remove Me, remove My powers from the universe, and things change.” God gazed up at the static. “When I realized what was happening it was too late for Me to reverse it. I could only act. You were on My mind, and I knew you’d need allies in whatever was to come. So I gave you Beelzebub, I gave you Dog, and then I was locked away.” 

“Why not Crowley?” Aziraphale asked immediately. “Why wouldn’t you let him remember?” 

Her lips curled into a frown. “I tried,” She said very softly. “It didn’t take. Beelzebub was the next best bet.” 

It didn’t take? Aziraphale wanted to ask why but there were more pressing matters. “So it changed all of history?” 

“History is not linear, Aziraphale. Not to me. It is…” God sighed and wove Her fingers together only to flip them and wiggle them about in the air. She looked at Aziraphale. He got it - it was inexplicable, all there, together, and yet separate. Wiggling around. “I don’t entirely know how it all shook out but I’m grateful your memories stayed.” 

“Yes, well. Beelzebub’s did too, as did Dog’s. It seemed that part of your plan worked. But what am I supposed to do?” 

“Convince Adam to set the world to rights.” God frowned. “Get him to free Me and My power back into the world.” 

“It sounds easy when you say it but he might not be simple to convince. He’s also surrounded by the Horsemen who, by the way, are rather nastier this time.” Aziraphale tried not to reflect on how it felt to have a flaming sword shoved into his back.

“You’ll figure it out,” God said. 

“Helpful.” He was at his wit’s end. If God couldn’t fix this, how could he? 

Aziraphale nearly jumped out of his skin when the Lord ran Her fingers through his hair and then cupped his cheek, staring into his eyes with Hers. They were endless and for the first time he wasn’t scared to look into them. 

“I have asked a lot of you, My dear Guardian of the Eastern Gate. Protector of humanity.” She smiled and it was a sorrowful thing. “And you have always risen to the occasion. Do you think you could do it once more?” 

“Yes,” Aziraphale whispered without thinking. For Her he’d do anything. He leaned into Her hand. 

“Good.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead, warmth and light surging through him. When She sat back he felt different, but he couldn’t describe how or why. 

ARE YOU READY TO RETURN TO EARTH, AZIRAPHALE? Death stood nearby waiting, watching. 

With one last glance at God, Aziraphale stood and brushed off his clothes before he walked over to Death. “Yes, I believe I am.” 

GOOD. THERE IS WORK TO BE DONE AND YOU HAVE BEEN DISTRACTING ME. Death reached out and grasped Aziraphale’s arm and everything shifted into darkness and then nothing.

**

Crowley slept for an entire day before he was eased awake by Anathema’s gentle nudging. 

“What?” He growled as he turned over and pulled the blankets over his head. 

“We can’t stop just because he’s gone,” she said. Crowley’s heart ripped in half, then into fourths, and he wanted to scream again. Aziraphale had been his to protect, his to keep, and he had been powerless to stop his death. It hurt more than he imagined it could, like a piece of him had been torn out of his body and he was now dealing with a phantom limb. 

Crowley was lost and he hadn’t felt like that since his Fall. 

“Crowley.” 

“Shut  _ up _ .” Crowley hissed it, seething. Who did this human think she was? Why would he care about the world now? 

He heard Anathema sigh. “I sent the children home.” 

“Good.” 

“I think our plan is still worth attempting,” she offered. 

“What’s the point?” 

“To save the world.” 

“None of that matters now.” Crowley rolled onto his stomach and shoved his face into the pillow. What he didn’t expect was for the weight to shift on the bed, the blankets to be torn away, and a sharp slap delivered to the back of his bare thigh. 

He yelped and scrambled up, glaring daggers at Anathema who looked at him with rage in her eyes. 

“Listen, you selfish prick,” she growled and he had never liked her more than he did in that moment. “Every moment you spend here moping we miss a chance to save the world and we  _ waste _ Aziraphale’s death. Do you think that’s what he wanted? Do you think that’s why he was willing to face that down? So you could sit here and scream into a pillow?” 

She was right. Of course she was right. But it didn’t stop the pain, the sting that came whenever he remembered Aziraphale was gone and he had been powerless to stop it. To save him. 

“What are we supposed to do?” Crowley finally asked. 

“Figure out how to get the antichrist away from the Horsemen and bring him to Tadfield.” 

“Easy enough for you to say. There’s no way they’ll let me near him.” Not with his connection to Aziraphale, anyway. 

“Are you the only demon in Hell that has access to the antichrist?” Anathema raised her eyebrows in question. 

Crowley grumbled to himself before speaking up. “No. I could ask Beelzebub.” 

“Of course you could.” She sighed and shook her head. “Get the antichrist here and I’ll figure out the rest with Newt and the kids, alright? We just need to get him alone.” 

Crowley hesitated. “You’re not going to hurt Adam, are you?” 

Her face softened. “He’s still a kid, Crowley, so no. Not if this all goes right.” 

Crowley was more worried about it going  _ wrong _ . “Are there any other prophecies I should know about? Any other deaths I should be expecting?” Bitterness dripped from his voice like venom and he thought about fangs and scales. 

Anathema’s gaze was unwavering. “No.” 

His upper lip curled in an unhappy snarl as he miracled his clothes back on (when had he stripped? At some point in his misery he’d gotten rid of his clothes and given in to sheets and blankets). He rose, checked himself in the small mirror on the wall, then glanced at Anathema one last time. 

“See you soon. Don’t let anyone touch my car.” He snapped and disappeared, reappearing at the entrance to Hell’s headquarters in London. Crowley was quick to move to the escalator, hopping down the moving stairs and breezing through the lobby without a glance. He didn’t have time for pleasantries and specifically ignored the looks he got in the halls as he shouldered his way past demons and angels alike. 

The one demon he couldn’t shoulder by was Hastur who was all rotting smiles and black eyes as he stood directly in Crowley’s way. 

“Crawly,” he growled, looking far too pleased with himself. “Where’s that slave of yours?” 

“None of your business.” 

“Heard you took him to Earth. Dangerous place up there. Decided to leave him behind?” 

“I’m sorry, are you hard of hearing? Or just dense? I said it is none of your business.” 

Hastur’s eyes flashed. “You’re bein’ awfully rude to a Duke of Hell, Crawly.” 

Crowley didn’t have time for this. He shouldered past Hastur who grabbed onto his arm and held him in place, leaning in. “If I get my way, which I think I will, soon enough that little bitch of yours will belong to everyone.” 

Crowley wasn’t sure what happened next, but it resulted in a pile of ashes and an unhappy frog letting out a displeased ‘ribbit’ on the ground. The fire he’d summoned still burned at the tips of his fingers and he glanced around at the gawkers in the hallway. 

“Anyone else interested in being  _ discorporated _ today?” Crowley snarled. “Get out of my way.” 

They all moved and he stormed down the hall, faster now. There was no way he wasn’t going to get in trouble for that move and he wanted to get to Beelzebub first. He threw open the door to the office, completely ignored the protests from the secretary, and shoved his way into Beelzebub’s office. 

The demon prince looked up casually from their paperwork. “Crowley.” 

“I need you to bring the antichrist to Tadfield. Also, I discorporated Hastur and he’ll likely be requesting a new corporation.” 

“Ah.” Beelzebub looked him up and down and then motioned to the chair in front of their desk. “Take a seat.” 

“There’s no time!” Crowley shouted. Beelzebub watched him impassively. Crowley gave in and dropped down onto the chair. 

“Start from the beginning.” Beelzebub leaned forward on their desk. Crowley did. He explained the planned coup, the Horsemen, Aziraphale’s death (not missing the flash of unhappiness that Beelzebub couldn’t contain), Hastur’s discorporation, and what needed to happen. 

Crowley’s leg bounced as he fell silent, waiting. Beelzebub considered him. 

“So you need me to collect the antichrist, bring him to Tadfield, and hope for the best? Even if I can get him away for a short time it won’t take long for the Horsemen to realize he’s gone.” Beelzebub frowned. “We’re working with very thin margins, Crowley.” 

“I know that,” Crowley replied, irritated as he picked at the knee of his trousers. “But that’s the plan. The prophecy says that we have to help him remember his humanity, Anathema and Aziraphale both thought that reuniting him with his friends is one way to do that.” 

“I’m not a big fan of this plan,” Beelzebub admitted. 

Crowley bit back a growl. “Do you have a better one?” 

“No.” Beelzebub tapped the top of their desk. “I’ll get you the antichrist, but if this doesn’t work I’m throwing you under the bus. You understand?” 

He did, and without Aziraphale he found he didn’t really care. “Whatever. Just bring the kid as soon as possible. We’ll be ready.” 

Beelzebub nodded and Crowley stood to leave. 

“Crowley?” He turned. Beelzebub tilted their head. “I’m sorry for your loss.” 

Crowley turned back and stormed out of Hell, making quick work of it so as not to be caught. Once he was up top he miracled himself back to Tadfield, running solely on hope that this ridiculous plan would work. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Tuesday & Friday! Unless I give into bribes. I am weak. 
> 
> If you'd like to chat about this piece, Good Omens, or whatever else come hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/). I'm friendly, I promise!


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In spite of the circumstances, there's a world to save.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all. Glad you enjoyed the bonus chapter on Saturday!! The plot has been revealed, the inciting incident has been explained...now our heroes get to try and right the world!
> 
> Enjoy.

Beelzebub excused themselves from their office and headed back to their home, mind reeling. It was bad enough they were stuck in this shitty excuse of a reality, but they’d lost their only true ally. They let themselves into their abode. 

“Gabriel?” They called out and grimaced at how their voice edged on raw. It would take a fight to return to neutral monotone, but there was an urgency now that hadn’t been there before. 

Gabriel, the sorry bastard, poked his head out from the kitchen and scowled. “Oh Master Beelzebub I’m  _ so _ glad you’re home. Do you finally have need of my services?” 

Beelzebub was tired of the sarcasm and walked right up to him, shoving him against the wall with their hand on his chest. His brow crinkled in confusion. “What?” 

“I have to go to Earth,” Beelzebub growled out. “If I don’t come back you need to try and get out of this place.” 

Again, Gabriel replied: “What?” 

“You’re an idiot but you’re not that big of an idiot. I’m about to go do something potentially very stupid and very dangerous, and if I don’t come back you won’t be safe and you need to run.” They reached up and unbuckled his collar, but Gabriel grabbed their hands before they finished. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Taking your collar off.” 

“I don’t want you to,” Gabriel bit out. 

“Well tough shit I’m going to.” They tried to shake his hands off of their wrists. He held on. 

“ _ Stop _ ,” Gabriel growled. 

“No!” Beelzebub growled right back as they yanked a hand free and slapped Gabriel. “Let me do this!” 

“Something is wrong with you.” Gabriel tried to wrestle out of Beelzebub’s grasp and with a frustrated noise, they let him. 

“Just listen to me for once in your stupid life!” 

“Why are you going to Earth? Why is it going to be dangerous?” Gabriel advanced on them, his larger frame overshadowing theirs. Beelzebub groaned and leaned back against the wall, eyes closed as frustration flowed through them. 

“You’re asking too many questions.” 

“You’re acting strangely,” Gabriel shot back. “Take me with you.” 

“What?” Beelzebub’s eyes flew open. “No.” 

“I’m not letting you leave me down here. If you’re going up to Earth, then I’m going. If you’re not coming back then neither am I.” He crossed his arms over his chest. 

“You’re not an archangel anymore Gabriel. You don’t get to  _ command _ me. You have no authority.” 

“But you’re going to let me come with you anyway.” He reached up and re-buckled his collar. 

“Idiot,” Beelzebub hissed. “You could die.” 

“I’d rather die than be relegated to a life of slavery.” Gabriel shrugged. “Mind miracling me a suit?” 

**

Crowley watched the Them file into Anathema’s house again. They seemed somewhat back to their normal selves, despite what they’d witnessed. 

“So King Adam is coming here?” Wensleydale asked. 

“Yes,” Anathema replied as she cut up more cucumber sandwiches and put them on a plate. 

“And you want us to just...play with him?” Pepper sounded skeptical. 

“Treat him like any other kid. He needs friends, I think you all would be good for him.” 

“Do we have to show him our fort?” Brian looked concerned, lips curling into a frown. “It is supposed to be a secret.” 

“That’s up to you,” Anathema answered, trying to be diplomatic as she brought the sandwiches over to the table. 

“You’re all quite strange,” Wensleydale pointed out. 

“It is the end of the world.” Anathema shrugged. “Strange things abound.” 

The children appeared to enjoy the sandwiches and Crowley left them to it, ignoring the concerned look from Anathema. The last thing he needed were concerned looks. He was fine. Absolutely fine. Tip-top. Peachy. He slipped out the front door and stood on the stoop. 

Shadows coalesced on the street in front of him and he blinked twice. Beelzebub stood with Adam beside them, but behind both of them was Gabriel’s towering form. Just the image of an angel in a collar made Crowley’s chest ache. He missed Aziraphale.

“Crowley.” Beelzebub nodded in greeting as they approached. They squinted at the house and frowned. “That’s warded.” 

“Yes, well, meant to keep demons out.” 

“But you’ve been inside?” 

“I’m special.” Crowley poked his head into the doorway and shouted. “Oi, Adam is here.” 

“Does he want a sandwich?” Brian yelled back. 

Crowley glanced at Adam. “Hey kid, want a cucumber sandwich?” 

“Yes please.” Adam grinned and rocked back on his heels. Crowley shouted his answer back into the house and then proceeded into the garden. Adam greeted him with a hug. 

“I missed you, kid.” He ruffled his curly hair. 

“Where’s Aziraphale?” Adam asked, looking up at him. Before Crowley could answer, three other children poured out of the front door of the house and awkwardly approached. Brian offered up a paper plate with two sandwiches on it. 

“Adam, this is Brian, Pepper, and Wensleydale.” Crowley pointed to them as he said each name. “Everyone, this is Adam.” 

“ _ King _ Adam,” Wensleydale corrected. 

“Just Adam,” Adam insisted as he took the sandwiches. “Don’t much like being called King all the time.” 

“If I were King I’d want everyone to call me that,” Pepper pointed out. 

“You couldn’t be King though,” Brian replied. “You’d be a Queen.”

Pepper scowled. “If I were King, I’d make it so I could be King, idiot.” 

“Actually,” Wensleydale supplied helpfully, “I don’t think that’s how it works at all.” 

Adam took a bite of the sandwich and exchanged a look with Crowley before he grinned. “Do you guys like playing hide and seek?” 

“That’s sort of a baby game,” Pepper said. “The kind of thing my little sister likes to play.” 

A dark look crossed Adam’s face. “Well do you have a better idea?” 

“Have you ever played Inquisitors?” Brian asked. “It is good fun.” 

“No, what’s that?” 

The conversation devolved into excitedly discussing what each of them understood of the Spanish inquisition, and how they’d commissioned themselves to be the  _ English _ inquisition. Before long they were running off toward the woods and Brian had found a rather large stick. Crowley looked to Beelzebub and Gabriel. 

“The antichrist is yours,” Beelzebub said. “He came willingly. You don’t have long before the Horsemen notice.” 

“Right. I see you’ve also brought some muscle.” Crowley gave Gabriel a look.

“He refused to stay in Hell.” Beelzebub shrugged. “He might become useful.” 

“I’m right here,” Gabriel grumbled. Crowley ignored him.

A child’s scream pierced the air. Crowley took off running toward it. He was followed by Beelzebub and Gabriel, and thought he heard Anathema call out in alarm after them. Crowley was the first on the scene, crashing through the bushes and underbrush toward shouts. 

He stumbled into the clearing where the Them’s fort lay in ruin, Pollution dripping acidic sludge on a few planks of wood that had been ripped off of it. Famine stood near a tree, smiling at Adam, while War prowled behind the group. 

Adam stood in front of the Them, frowning at Famine. 

“Oh look,” Famine drawled, gaze drifting over to Crowley and soon after, Beelzebub, Gabriel, Anathema, and Newt as they all crashed into the clearing. “You’ve all just made our jobs that much easier.” 

“What are you doing here, Famine?” Adam asked. 

“Coming to rescue you, my King. You were taken.” 

“I wasn’t  _ taken _ . Beelzebub needed me for something, so I went with them.” Adam crossed his arms over his chest. “And I was having  _ fun _ and you went and ruined it!” 

“The world has more important things going on right now, Adam,” Famine said, some of his formalities dropping away as he looked at Adam hungrily. “And we need you to steer them in the direction they ought to go.” 

“I could show you a real game,” War offered from the back and Crowley watched Pepper turn around and glower at her. “One where the pieces are human and they slash at each other until there’s nothing left.” 

“We could help you create a real inquisition,” Famine pointed out. “A group of your followers willing to root out any nonbelievers.” 

Crowley watched as Adam’s face darkened. “I don’t  _ want _ any of that.” 

Pepper yelped and Adam swung around. War had plucked her up by the back of her shirt and laughed as she kicked and flailed. 

“Put me down!” Pepper snapped. 

“Put her down!” Adam commanded. War looked at him impassively and then glanced at Famine. 

“Do with her what you wish,” Famine said with a wave of his hand. “Our King doesn’t need such distractions.” 

“Stop this!” Adam insisted, a little more desperate this time. Crowley took a few steps forward only to attract Famine’s sharp gaze. 

“Wasn’t killing your angel enough, Crowley?” Famine asked. “Who else needs to die for your treason?” 

“Adam!” Pepper cried out, sounding scared this time. “Help me.” 

Crowley looked and found War standing with a flaming sword. She waved it in front of Pepper’s face. 

“Leave her alone!” Crowley and Adam shouted at once as Famine laughed. 

“No!” Famine replied joyously.

There was a clap of thunder and lightning curled down from the sky. It struck the ground right in front of Famine, sending him backward a few steps. Another struck the ground at War’s feet and she dropped Pepper, snarling. One snapped down in front of Pollution, but they watched it impassively, continuing to drip acid that sizzled on the ground. 

When the blinding light cleared, Crowley blinked at the figure left behind. Large white wings shielded the children. 

“Anathema,” Aziraphale’s voice boomed through the clearing. “Get the children to safety.  _ Run _ .” 

The children, Adam included, ran to Anathema and they all took off running back toward her home. Newt brought up the rear. 

“Aziraphale,” Beelzebub said. 

“Aziraphale.” Gabriel huffed. 

“Angel,” Crowley whispered as his feet started to move without his permission. He ran straight into the shining white angel and threw his arms around his neck. Aziraphale embraced him and pressed a warm, tingling kiss to his lips. 

Crowley kissed him again and again, Aziraphale’s hands strong and sure against his back, his hips, while he desperately carded his fingers through his curls. “Aziraphale, angel,” he kept whispering the words against Aziraphale’s mouth until Aziraphale cupped his face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together. 

“I’m sorry I left you.” Aziraphale brushed away Crowley’s tears with his thumb. “But I’m here now.” 

“Sorry to break up your moment,” Beelzebub pointed out with a tight voice, “but we have bigger issues.” 

Aziraphale stepped away from Crowley who immediately missed his warmth, his closeness. He couldn’t believe his angel was right  _ there _ , glowing with power. He was wearing a suit of white and cream with a tartan bow tie. His wings were out, his neck free of his collar, and his eyes blazed with divine light. 

“This is impossible,” Famine hissed, snarling in the direction of the light. “We  _ killed _ you.” 

Aziraphale smiled warmly. “You certainly did.” 

“Guess we’ll have to do it again!” War advanced, swinging the flaming sword. They made to stab Aziraphale with it but the angel caught the blade and Crowley recognized the whiz of power in the air that indicated a miracle. The sword looked dull in Aziraphale’s hand as he yanked it by the blade out of War’s hands, tossed it in the air to flip it, and caught the handle. 

It burst into flame again and Aziraphale stepped forward, shoving the blade straight into War’s chest and pulling it back. She fell to her knees, grabbing at the wound, staring first at Aziraphale and then at Crowley as her flesh began to melt. 

“No!” Famine shouted as War was reduced to nothing. “You idiots. Pollution, we must get to the antichrist!” 

Before Aziraphale could turn, Crowley watched as the two remaining horsemen vanished into thin air. 

“Move,” Aziraphale insisted. “Go, to the house. They’ll want to claim Adam.” 

Beelzebub disappeared with Gabriel, leaving Aziraphale and Crowley in the clearing. 

“I have much to explain to you,” Aziraphale said, touching Crowley’s cheek. His blazing eyes returned to the blue Crowley knew. “But we have to save the world first.” 

“You have your powers back,” Crowley said stupidly. 

“Yes. As I said, much to explain. Come on now,” he held out his hand. “Allow me to do the honor?” 

Crowley took his hand and the pair of them vanished. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates Tuesdays & Fridays!
> 
> I love talking about this fic, Good Omens, and writing. Feel free to reach out on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) or [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/) if you want to chat!


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is time to fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. SO. Listen. Y'all yesterday this fic broke 1000 kudos and I'm just...in awe. I almost didn't post this fic! I almost scrapped it! I almost said "no, I can't do this, I can't make this" and didn't try. I'm glad I did, if only because it brought so many of you into my inbox and into my timeline and my comments. You all get me so excited to keep writing and keep sharing this story. 
> 
> As such...to celebrate breaking 1000 kudos here's a bonus chapter to wrap up Act II.

Aziraphale appeared in front of Anathema’s house, Crowley’s hand already in his just moments after Beelzebub and Gabriel appeared. 

“Get inside the house,” Beelzebub instructed to Gabriel. “You’re useless out here.” 

The archangel didn’t look happy about it but he obeyed, slipping in through the front door. At least the children would have someone to protect them. Aziraphale turned to look at a panting Famine whose eyes had grown dark and whose teeth were long and sharp. 

“Give us back the antichrist,” Famine snarled. 

Aziraphale brandished his flaming sword. “No.” 

“Then Tadfield is ours.” 

Aziraphale noted too late that Pollution was nowhere to be found. From deeper into the town he heard startled cries. 

“They’ve just connected Tadfield to unprotected water sources.” Famine grinned. “Right now sludge is coming out of sinks and showers. Baby bottles with formula are being filled with it. And that’s just the first. Days like these do make me miss old Pestilence. Could use a good plague of locust about now but he’s long retired.” 

Aziraphale lifted his chin. He would not be dissuaded. 

“That’s not enough?” Famine shrugged and snapped his fingers. An apple tree in a nearby yard began to wilt. “I usually prefer to let humans do this to themselves, you know, but I suppose Tadfield has been a little behind on everything. A little help could go a long way.” 

“Angel, what’s the play here?” Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale glanced at him. “We fight, my dear.” Then he lunged at Famine who darted away. 

**

“There’s one of them against the three of us,” Beelzebub pointed out. “How difficult could this be?” 

“How were things in Hell when you left?” Crowley tried not to let his voice waver. 

“Other than the fact you discorporated Hastur?” Beelzebub turned to look where Crowley was looking. Out in the streets of Tadfield were demons. Probably a dozen of them, smashing windows and setting fires as people screamed. 

Crowley’s heart sank. 

“Crawly,” Ligur’s familiar voice growled behind him. “I’ve got a bone ta pick with ya.” 

“Of course you do.” Crowley turned to him and offered his best sunny smile. “Well, come on then. Let’s do this.” 

** 

“Do you think you can save the world?” Famine asked as he pulled a spear from the air and blocked Aziraphale’s attempt at a slash. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale answered, stepping back to dodge the sharp edge before trying to step around and attack again.

“Why do you want to save this hideous planet?” Famine dodged, far more lithe and quick than Aziraphale. “Your side already lost, what is there to gain from this?” 

“There’s more at play than you understand. That’s all I can tell you.” Aziraphale jumped back and then took a couple steps backwards. They’d made their way down the street during their spar and now stood ten feet apart, weapons at the ready, neither of them moving. 

“This is the judgment humanity deserved. It is what we were created for.” 

“Perhaps.” Aziraphale heard something behind him and ducked, spinning on his heel in that position just in time to get out of Pollution’s way. “Two on one? You’re playing dirty now.” 

Pollution smiled. “That’s the only way I know how to play.” 

**

Crowley grappled with Ligur. Both of them were weaponless, throwing fists and miracles. 

“You din’t have to discorporate him!” Ligur shouted as he shoved his knee into Crowley’s gut and flipped them, shoving Crowley’s face against the concrete. He got a grip on his hair and pulled back before he dropped Crowley’s head back against the ground. The impact reverberated through Crowley’s skull and he saw stars. 

Then the weight on his back was gone and he heard something - or someone - slam into something hard and flat. 

“You’ve always been a complainer, Ligur,” Beelzebub growled. “Always a little bitch.” 

Crowley struggled to get up, his head spinning. He shook it to clear it, throwing a miracle in the mix to heal some of the lacerations on his face. Behind them the town of Tadfield had begun to burn as screams of terror floated through the air and people ran to find some sort of safety. 

He looked down the road and saw Aziraphale cornered by two Horsemen, dodging and keeping his own but just barely. 

“This is stupid,” Crowley hissed. “We have to figure something out.” 

“Focus on the Horsemen. They’re the ones who orchestrated all of this. Take them down, the rest will follow.” 

“We need to lure them back here, then,” Crowley said. 

“Or we go to them.” Beelzebub shrugged. “Don’t tell me you’re a coward now.” 

“Never.” Crowley flashed a sharp grin before he took off running, Beelzebub at his heels. 

**

Despite having his powers back, Aziraphale struggled to keep up with two Horsemen who kept lobbing attacks at him. From Pollution, he dodged sludge and grease. From Famine, he had to keep out of range of the spear. The two Horsemen tried to work together to push him toward one or the other and he kept fleeing, pulling them further away from the town. 

He doubled back when he saw smoke rising out of the heart of Tadfield and that was his mistake. Aziraphale missed the sludge beneath his feet that sent him stumbling to the ground with a yelp, his sword sliding from his grasp. He couldn’t pull together a miracle quickly enough as Famine stepped on his wrist and pointed the spear at his back. 

“Checkmate,” Famine growled, but a moment later was tackled away from him. Aziraphale scrambled up and snapped up his sword, watching as Beelzebub snarled and used sharp, long talons to slash at Famine. They were an absolute terror when they wanted to be and Aziraphale watched in a daze. 

“Angel!” Crowley shoved him out of the way as acidic sludge was sprayed, both of them barely out of its range. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said with relief as he turned to face Pollution. 

What he didn’t expect was a stream of water to hit Pollution in the face, or for brightly colored balls to come from the side of someone’s house. They sailed through the sky and hit the ground near Pollution, bursting and splashing water everywhere. 

Pollution looked pained as they took steps away from the water, stumbling back as more water balloons were launched at them. 

“Attack!” Pepper’s voice cried out and a second spray from a hose hit Pollution, leaving them frantically looking back and forth. 

“Now Mister Aziraphale!” Wensleydale cried out and Aziraphale crossed the distance and plunged his sword into Pollution’s chest. 

Pollution dissolved immediately, melting into sludge that was washed away by the water. 

“Aziraphale, he’s running!” Beelzebub growled out and he turned just in time to see Famine returning toward the chaos occurring in Tadfield. Aziraphale gave chase and he could hear other footsteps behind him. 

He came to a stop when he saw people - humans - running toward him. 

“Help us!” They shouted. 

“Pepper?” A woman cried out. 

“Mom!” Pepper yelled as she dropped the water balloons she was holding to run straight into her mother’s arms. The woman was covered in ash and looked terrified. 

“Brian?” 

“Dad?” 

Parents called out for their children and the Them ran to their respective parents as Famine’s laughter filled the area. 

“Pathetic,” he snarled. “You all try to fight what is inevitable. You cling to each other even as the world ends around you. This is what you want to save, Adam?” Famine motioned to the families and Aziraphale’s gaze snapped to the 11 year old boy standing alone. “You’re not  _ one of them _ .” 

Adam opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it. Aziraphale realized with an aching heart that Dog wasn’t at his side. Slowly, he made his way toward Adam. 

“You are, Adam,” he spoke softly. “You are one of them. You are just like them. You had human parents who raised you, who took care of you. You could have friends like Pepper, and Brian, and Wensleydale. If you wanted to you could be human.” 

“Shut  _ up _ ,” Famine shouted, turning a hateful gaze on Aziraphale. “You’re tormenting the poor child. He is Lucifer’s son, a child of the devil, he is not made for this world.” 

“Yet it is this world you were sent to, this world you were raised by,” Aziraphale insisted. 

“ **Stop** ,” Adam said, firm and sure. Aziraphale shut his mouth and Famine’s gaze snapped back to Adam, alarmed. “Both of you stop. All of this…” He grit his teeth and shut his eyes before he yelled, “ **STOP** .” 

Time stopped. Aziraphale moved his head and realized he was not part of time. He exhaled slowly and looked to Adam who had tears in his eyes and rubbed at them stubbornly. 

“Adam?” The voice surprised Aziraphale. It was Crowley. He watched as the demon hurried over to Adam. Crowley put a hand on his head and ruffled his hair. “Hey, kid, shh.” 

He pulled Adam into a hug and the boy hugged him back, sobbing into his shirt. 

“Shhh,” Crowley soothed, crouching down to pull him into a real embrace. He rubbed his back and set his cheek on the top of his head. “Where’s Dog, eh? He’s usually by your side.” 

That made Adam sob harder and somehow, with a snap, the shaggy beast was at his side and whining. He tried to push his muzzle between Crowley and Adam, black tongue sneaking out to lick away his tears. 

“See? There he is. A boy can’t be sad when he’s got his Dog with him.” Crowley reached out and scratched Dog between the ears, still holding onto a weeping Adam with one arm. 

Finally Adam stepped back, wiping at his eyes. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do Crowley. I’m just a kid.” 

“I know Adam.” Crowley glanced over at Aziraphale. “Sometimes though that puts you in the best position of all of us to make a decision.” 

“What am I making a decision about?” He sniffled. 

Aziraphale stepped forward and looked to Crowley for permission to speak before saying, “About what the world should be. About whether or not God ought to be in it.” 

Adam’s gaze snapped to Aziraphale then, eyes wide. “Oh no.” 

“What is it?” Crowley asked. 

“Oh no, I did this.” Adam took a step away from Crowley. “I remember. I  _ remember _ .” 

Aziraphale exhaled slowly, terrified that the moment would fade. 

“What do you remember?” Aziraphale inquired carefully. 

“I tried to make the world right again but I locked Her away.” Adam looked over at a frozen Famine, then back at Crowley and Aziraphale. Dog whined quietly at his side. “I didn’t mean to, not really. I just thought maybe the world would be better without Her. I wanted everyone to stop meddling with things so badly.” 

“You can make it right, Adam.” Aziraphale murmured. 

“What does that mean?” Crowley asked, rising up to his feet. “What do you mean make it right? What do you mean he locked God away?” 

“It is a lot to explain,” Aziraphale started. 

“Explain it.” Adam said. “He deserves that much.” 

Aziraphale glanced at the antichrist and smiled, his heart clenching with regret. He stepped up to Crowley and took his hands in his own. “When I died, Death took me to Her. Where I’m from, when the timeline is as it is supposed to be, Adam chose to be human. He turned away from his Hellish father and tried to restore the world, save it from the end. But he also wanted God to stay out of it and accidentally created a holding place. She managed a last ditch attempt to save everything and that’s...me. That’s Beelzebub. That’s Dog.” 

Crowley’s golden yellow eyes were brimming with conflict. “And?” 

“And,” Aziraphale said with a sigh as he lifted one hand to Crowley’s cheek. “Adam can fix it. He can decide right here and right now to fix reality if he’ll just agree to release Her. To allow God back into the world as She is meant to be. You can’t have a world created by Her without Her. Not without it all falling into what you see around us.” 

“What happens to us, Aziraphale?” Crowley asked, pain in his voice. 

“I don’t know.” 

“ _ Tell me _ ,” Crowley hissed as tears came into his eyes. 

“I imagine,” he began, “that you’ll return to being who you were. That we’ll pick right up where we left off. I don’t even know if I’ll remember anything.” 

Crowley’s eyes closed and the tears fell down his face. Aziraphale’s heart ached. 

“Oh my darling.” Aziraphale pressed their foreheads together, reaching up to stroke the back of Crowley’s neck. Crowley sniffled and then tilted his head and kissed him. Aziraphale could taste his tears as he opened his mouth beneath it, fingers curling in the short hairs at the base of Crowley’s skull. 

Then Crowley’s mouth left his to trail down his neck. Shaking hands came up to undo Aziraphale’s bow tie and the top buttons of his shirt so he could push the fabric aside. His mouth found Aziraphale’s claim mark, still there despite his body having been destroyed. It still made him shiver when Crowley kissed it. 

“You have a few more minutes,” Adam said quietly. “Then I have to make it right. M’sorry.” 

Aziraphale held Crowley’s head to his shoulder and offered Adam a watery smile. “Quite alright, dear boy. Just give us a moment?” 

Adam turned and walked away, looking up at Famine who was frozen in place. 

Aziraphale tucked a hand under Crowley’s chin and brought his face back to his, gazing into despairing goldenrod eyes. 

“I want you to promise me something,” Crowley whispered, bringing a hand up to cup the side of Aziraphale’s face. 

“Anything,” Aziraphale murmured. 

“Tell him you love him. Promise me you’ll tell him. You’ll tell me. No more hiding, no more wasting time. If I can’t have you please let him.” Crowley searched his eyes and Aziraphale realized in that moment he would do anything for Crowley. Telling him he loved him was a small price to pay. 

“I love  _ you _ ,” Aziraphale said quietly. “I will always love you, every version of you. The world could be destroyed and remade a million times over and I’d still find you in each and every one.” 

“Aziraphale.” 

“And I promise,” he added, punctuating it with a kiss, “that I will tell you. I will never stop telling you.” 

“Good.” Crowley’s voice was raspy, tears gathering in his eyes again. 

“It is time.” Adam’s voice was small. 

“Go ahead, Adam,” Aziraphale insisted. “Do what you must.” 

“Aziraphale…” Crowley whined, and Aziraphale kissed him. He kissed him with an open mouth and an open heart, and prayed for mercy. 

Light shined around them. 

Then it didn’t. 

And then there was nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Tuesday & Friday (next update is Friday, resuming the normal schedule). 
> 
> Tissues and hugs are available from me via [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/) if this chapter hurt you.


	26. Chapter 26 - Act III: Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world is fixed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello. Welcome to Act III: Recovery. This last arc of the story really surprised me as a writer, because it took a lot more than I initially outlined/thought it would. I think, in the end, taking my time with it was the right move. I hope y'all will like it. There's going to be angst, but with everything I ask you this: trust me! There will be a good ending. 
> 
> Thanks as always to my beta Kazeetie who has been churning through chapters so that I can provide y'all with the bonus updates. And thanks to the kind folks who have been encouraging me to post extra chapters. A generous reader has made it so you guys will receive a bonus update tomorrow!

_ There was a gentle hand in his hair petting, soothing.  _

_ “You did well,” She whispered to him. “Thank you.” _

Aziraphale woke with a start to the sound of the book shop’s heater kicking on. He made a confused noise, sitting up a bit too fast. As his vision cleared he looked around and realized he was home, in the book shop, in the back room on his favorite couch. 

“Oh thank God,” he murmured and glanced up, thinking about his dream. Then he touched his lips and remembered Crowley. His heart lurched. 

He scooted back against the arm of the couch and pulled a throw pillow into his arms. Holding it, he replayed the last moments with Crowley and Adam, time frozen around them. It had been real, he knew it had, but how could he even begin to really process any of it? Who else would know? Would Beelzebub? Would Adam? 

Maybe Crowley remembered, but something in his gut told him it wouldn’t be that easy. He buried his face in the pillow and wept, exhaustion sweeping over him again. He was  _ home _ . 

“Aziraphale?” Crowley’s voice held a note of urgency from the front of the book shop. Aziraphale had cried himself out and now clutched the pillow, staring at the small desk he kept in the back room. “Aziraphale - oh.” Crowley poked his head in, sunglasses on. 

Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to look at him. 

“Angel? What’s wrong?” He walked cautiously over to the couch, perching on the other end. 

“Oh Crowley.” 

“I felt a surge of energy,” Crowley explained, brows furrowed, no doubt confused by Aziraphale’s tone. “I was worried something had happened. I -” he faltered. “What happened?” 

Aziraphale stared at him, took in his styled red hair and sharp nose, lingered on his lips. He knew what those lips felt like. He knew what it was to kiss at Crowley’s fluttering pulse. He knew what Crowley’s mouth against his skin was like. He knew more than he should, than he deserved, and he was choked up. 

It was as if half of him had been torn away. 

Crowley took off his sunglasses and set them aside, scooting closer. “Aziraphale, you’re crying.” 

Aziraphale tossed the pillow away. “Crowley please come here,” he said with an urgency that thrummed through his veins. “Please.  _ Please _ .” He held out his arms. 

Crowley didn’t even hesitate. He scooted over until he was encircled in Aziraphale’s arms and he wrapped his own around Aziraphale in return. Aziraphale buried his face against Crowley’s shoulder as more tears came, as all the strength he’d maintained through his harrowing journey dissolved and he wept. 

“Shh,” Crowley shushed him, reaching one hand up to pet his head. “Aziraphale, shh, it is okay. I’m right here.” 

Aziraphale could only imagine Crowley’s shock. He could count on one hand the times in history the demon had seen him cry. Now he gave great wracking sobs into his best friend’s shoulder, simultaneously relieved and heartbroken. He could discorporate from it, the pain was so deep. 

They stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity, until Aziraphale had no energy left to even sniffle. 

“I’ve got you,” Crowley whispered. Aziraphale drifted, nestling his head against Crowley’s chest so he could listen to the beat of his heart. He inhaled deeply and thought about citrus and ginger, wondering how he’d never noticed it before, the way it clung to Crowley’s skin. 

“I love you,” Aziraphale murmured. 

“What?” Crowley’s hand stopped its petting. 

“I,” Aziraphale swallowed, “love you.” 

Crowley sat back and Aziraphale wondered if he’d made a mistake, but he had  _ promised _ . He nervously looked up into familiar golden eyes and found a gentle expression on Crowley’s face. One of his hands rose to rest against Aziraphale’s cheek. “Say it again.” 

“I love you.” 

Crowley searched his face for something. “Why? Why now? Why are you telling me this?” 

“Because I promised someone I cared very much for that I would, that I wouldn’t waste anymore time. I’ve wasted enough as it is and it is all too precious to waste anymore.” Aziraphale blinked back tears. “I love you, Crowley. More than myself at times, more than anything else in this world. There are moments I think I love you more than I love Her and somehow that’s okay.”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley’s thumb followed the line of his cheek bone, wiping away a stray tear. “I love you too.” 

Aziraphale surged forward and kissed him. Crowley stiffened, then eased into the kiss. The hand on Aziraphale’s face was a steady anchor that slowed him, Crowley’s thumb rubbing at the hinge of his jaw, calming him. His mouth opened beneath Crowley’s tongue and they exchanged brushes of tongue and the gentle bite of teeth grazing skin. 

“I have so much to tell you Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, voice trembling. “And I will share it with you, I promise. I’ll tell you everything. Eventually.”

“Something happened.” 

“Yes.” But Aziraphale wasn’t ready to share. His heart had already been left out for the day. He couldn’t handle explaining everything else. So much had transpired. 

“How about lunch, then? We could get mimosas and crepes.” 

“At the bistro down the street?” Crowley didn’t like it as much as Aziraphale did. He’d once said it was too full of hipsters. 

“Yes, angel. Whatever you want.” 

A thought occurred to him. “What day is it?” 

“What?” Crowley frowned. 

“When did we dine at the Ritz?” 

Crowley’s face softened. “Last night.” 

Aziraphale shivered and pulled Crowley back into his arms, tucking his face against his neck. 

“Angel?” Crowley’s hand came up to rest gently on the back of Aziraphale’s neck. So much time had passed, yet none. Adam had returned him to the point of where it all began, he supposed. Right before he woke up in a cage in the depths of Hell. 

“You’re trembling,” Crowley said quietly, now stroking the back and Aziraphale’s neck before running his hand down to rub at his back. Where could Aziraphale start? How could he tell this story? What would it do to them?

“Would you nap with me?” Aziraphale asked. 

“I thought you didn’t sleep.” 

“Things change.” 

“Right.” Crowley nuzzled into Aziraphale’s curls. “Sure. I’m always interested in a nap. Do you even have a bed?” 

“I thought you might take us to yours.” 

Crowley tensed a bit and then huffed a laugh. “Oh yeah? Did you now. I knew you were only in this for one thing.” 

Aziraphale snorted. “Crowley.” 

Without lifting his head he knew they were in Crowley’s apartment, his bed soft beneath him. He sighed as he was guided down onto soft sheets and when Crowley tried to pull away, Aziraphale held him tighter. 

“Alright, I’ll stay,” Crowley murmured. Aziraphale felt lips press against his forehead. Covers were drawn up over them, a comforting weight against Aziraphale’s tumultuous heart. Crowley’s hands moved up and down his back soothingly as Aziraphale settled against his chest. 

“Be here when I wake up,” Aziraphale insisted. 

“I promise.”

Aziraphale allowed himself the small blessing of dreamless rest. 

When he woke up, he expected to be back in Hell. Instead he was on a soft bed, the light of the setting sun filtering in between the slats in the blinds. Crowley was wrapped around him, his breathing even, body lax. He was asleep. Aziraphale smiled. 

He enjoyed the quiet more than he expected he would, the earlier stress of the day not gone, but muted. 

“Crowley,” he whispered, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. 

“Mm.” Crowley remained asleep. 

“My love,” Aziraphale continued, leaning up to kiss his nose. Then he kissed his lax mouth. Crowley made a surprised noise that quickly turned into a soft little groan. 

“Angel.” He mumbled against Aziraphale’s lips. “Nice way to wake up.” Crowley leaned into the kiss, mouth yielding and open. It was nice to have Crowley like this, drowsy and soft, his edges dulled. Aziraphale nipped his lower lip and then licked into his mouth, curling his fingers in Crowley’s hair and tugging. It elicited another pleased noise, one torn from the back of Crowley’s throat.

He kissed Crowley awake, relishing in the way their bodies pressed together. 

“Everything alright?” Crowley asked, just a tad breathless. Aziraphale took pride in that fact. 

“A little better, I think.” He cupped the side of Crowley’s face leaned in to press their foreheads together, closing his eyes. “I’d like to tell you the story now if you’d hear it.” 

“I’m listening.” They shared breathing space as Aziraphale began to tell his tale, from the moment he woke up in the cage. 

It wasn’t easy, and they didn’t stay close during the entire telling. There were moments Crowley pulled away, paced his bedroom, and a moment where he begged off and Aziraphale found him in the kitchen with a bottle of wine and two glasses. 

“Drink,” he said as he slid one of them over. 

“I don’t have to continue,” Aziraphale offered. 

Crowley swirled his wine and then took a long drink. “Why did you tell me you loved me?” 

Aziraphale frowned. “Because I do.” 

“It wasn’t me you loved though.” He stared at his wine. “It was him.” 

“Crowley.” How could he think that? After so long. When Crowley didn’t look, Aziraphale sighed and pushed his wine away. “I’ve loved you for centuries, Crowley. This event didn’t change that, or make me realize it. What made me decide to tell you was the fact I regretted  _ not _ telling you all these years.”

“And some other version of me probably got to hear the words first. One who raped you. Hurt you.” Crowley’s eyes were hidden by his sunglasses, but Aziraphale didn’t miss the steady drip of tears as they hit the countertop. “I hurt you.” 

“You didn’t.” Aziraphale closed the distance and reached out to rest his hand over Crowley’s on the counter. “Crowley, my dear, my beloved, you wouldn’t.” 

“I  _ would _ . I’m a  _ demon _ ,” he hissed. 

“You’re  _ my _ demon,” Aziraphale corrected. “And on my side.”

“But you loved him?” He could see a peek of yellow beneath his sunglasses as Crowley watched him from the corner of his eye. 

“I did, because it was you.” Aziraphale squeezed the hand beneath his. “And I would like to tell you the rest of the story if you’ll hear it.” 

Crowley’s shoulders heaved with a sigh as he took his hand back and lifted his wine. “To the couch, then.” 

“Right.” 

The story went on. By the time Aziraphale shared about meeting God, Crowley had deposited himself on the floor at his feet, head in his lap. Aziraphale’s fingers toyed with his hair. 

“You saw Her, then.” 

“Yes. And Death, which was a strange experience.” Aziraphale rubbed his fingertips against Crowley’s scalp. Crowley nuzzled against his leg and hummed. 

“What was it like?” 

“Terrifying.” Aziraphale didn’t have it in him to be anything other than honest. “Absolutely bloody terrifying.” 

When the story ended, Aziraphale was in Crowley’s arms. They were lying lengthwise on the couch, Aziraphale’s head on Crowley’s chest. Crowley’s arms were around him, one tucked up under his clothes, fingers touching the bare skin of his back. It was comforting. Other than the rumble of a truck on the street outside, the apartment was quiet. 

Crowley’s heart beat softly beneath his cheek. 

“What happens now?” Crowley asked, his voice a rumbling comfort. 

Aziraphale breathed him in and then shrugged. “I’d like to speak to Beelzebub. I imagine we ought to check in on Adam. Otherwise, time is ours I suppose.” 

“And you want to spend that time with me?” Crowley’s voice was small, uncertain. 

“Yes.” Aziraphale’s voice left no room for argument or for insecurity. “I want to spend however much time with you that you wish to spend with me.” He wiggled up onto his knees, settled between Crowley’s thighs so he could look at him properly. Crowley removed his sunglasses and tossed them away. They disappeared in midair, off somewhere safe. 

Aziraphale gazed into the soft yellow eyes he loved so much. Crowley’s hands moved to his overcoat, gently pushing it off his shoulders. Aziraphale allowed it. He allowed Crowley to take slightly trembling hands to his bowtie, never averting his eyes as it was undone and pulled from around his neck. Crowley deposited it onto the floor. He unbuttoned Aziraphale’s waistcoat, then his shirt. 

All of his layers were removed until he was in nothing but a sleeveless undershirt and his trousers. Aziraphale shivered under Crowley’s intent gaze. With a glance in his direction to get his permission, Crowley slid his hands beneath the remaining shirt and pulled it up and over Aziraphale’s head. It joined the rest of his outfit on the ground. 

He reached up and touched what Aziraphale knew was his claim mark. It had to be nothing more than a scar now, mottled skin that had been torn open time and time again. Crowley’s gentle touch drew another shiver and he ducked his head down. 

“Do you know what it looks like, Aziraphale?” Crowley asked softly. 

“A bite scar, I imagine,” Aziraphale murmured. 

Crowley shook his head, his thumb trailing over his shoulder. “C’mon. Up. Off. To the bathroom.” Aziraphale was herded off the couch and down the hallway into the bathroom, gently prodded until he was in front of the mirror. 

His eyes widened and he reached up to touch the mark on his shoulder. The scar wasn’t  _ gone _ . He could still feel the bumps and ridges of scar tissue beneath his fingers. What was different was how it looked. It was gilded with swirls of gold and dotted with star-like freckles. 

Crowley met his surprised gaze in the mirror and, never breaking eye contact, bent his head down to press a kiss to it. It was like a flash of heat running down his spine and he gasped and pressed back against Crowley, tilting his head away from the attention in an attempt to ask for  _ more _ . 

His eyes closed and Crowley pressed his tongue to the mark, grazed his teeth over it, and then bit down gently. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale shuddered. “If you keep doing that…” 

“What?” Crowley whispered against his skin. “What will happen, Aziraphale?” His hand trailed teasingly over his stomach and slid between his legs, easily locating his steadily growing arousal. Aziraphale jerked into the touch with a whine. 

“He got to touch you,” Crowley brushed kisses up Aziraphale’s neck. “He got to see you.” He flexed his hand and massaged Aziraphale through his trousers. “Can I?” Crowley whispered the request right against Aziraphale’s ear. 

“At this point, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured, “I think I’d be cross if you  _ didn’t _ . Though I’d much rather you have me in your bed than in the loo.” 

Crowley chuckled. “I’ll have you where I like, angel.” 

“Oh.” That liquefied Aziraphale’s insides and a pathetic whine slipped out from somewhere within his chest. Crowley lingered, his breath warm over Aziraphale’s claim as he teased before kissing it again, timing the touch of his lips with a firm press of his hand. 

Aziraphale groaned, though he’d meant it to be a frustrated growl. “Please.” 

He saw Crowley’s smile in the mirror as he stepped away and took Aziraphale’s hand, tugging him down the hall and into the bedroom. They were barely through the door when Aziraphale couldn’t help himself and turned, throwing his arms around Crowley’s neck to kiss him. 

Crowley pressed him against the now-closed door, hands wandering over his bare torso before coming to rest at his hips. Aziraphale’s hands began to work at Crowley’s clothes, stumbling over buttons and shoving with clumsy hands. 

“Aziraphale.” Crowley grabbed his hands and pressed them to the door. “Slow down.” 

Aziraphale trembled, eager and nervous all at once. This was  _ his _ Crowley. Touchable, kissable, loveable. He wanted all of him. Wanted to be inside of him and have him inside. He closed his eyes against the wave of emotion. 

Then he was being hugged, his face buried in Crowley’s shoulder. He realized then just how much he was shaking. Crowley’s hand was warm and solid against his back, fingers trailing up lightly along his spine before he ran his palm firmly back down. “Breathe, angel,” Crowley instructed as he continued his touches. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

It helped and he timed his breathing with Crowley’s, eventually tilting his head to trail gentle kisses up his neck. 

“We don’t have to do this now,” Crowley pointed out. 

Aziraphale was a mess of uncertainty at that moment, his body buzzing with need and desire. But when he looked at it, when he moved so he could look into Crowley’s eyes, he wondered if he wasn’t doing this to fill the deep hole of grief that had dug its way into his heart. 

Whatever Crowley saw in his eyes appeared to resolve it. He reached up and cupped Aziraphale’s face in his hands. “We aren’t going to do this right now.” 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale hissed, though he was already fighting back tears. 

“My angel,” Crowley murmured as he leaned in and kissed his forehead. “There’s no rush.” 

Aziraphale hated the tears that fell. Hated how exhausted he was even after a nap. He curled his fingers in the back of Crowley’s shirt and pressed his face against his chest. 

“Shh.” Crowley rubbed his back. “Let me take you out to dinner, eh? Or we could order takeout and we can watch terrible movies all night. Really we could do all of the above if you wanted to.” 

Aziraphale said nothing. He merely remained in the circle of Crowley’s arms until the tears subsided and he was guided to the edge of the bed and made to sit. “Stay here for a moment, alright?” Crowley carded his fingers through his hair and then turned and left the room. 

Sitting in the silence, Aziraphale wondered if he was broken. 

Crowley returned, Aziraphale’s clothes in hand. He set them on the bed and then rummaged around in a large walk-in closet. He appeared with an oversized hoodie. “Here. Put on your undershirt and put this over it.” 

Aziraphale nodded and obeyed, grateful for the distraction. He tugged on the undershirt and then looked suspiciously at the hoodie. If it was Crowley’s, how on earth would it fit him? He pulled it on anyway and realized though it was a bit snug, it was comfortable. Bulky, yes, but warm and it smelled like Crowley. He buried his nose in the collar and inhaled. 

It wasn’t anything special. It was a black hoodie with a tiny snake on the breast. He wondered why he’d never seen Crowley wear it and shot him a questioning look. Crowley shrugged. 

“Sometimes all I want to do is crawl into a hoodie and then crawl into bed,” Crowley said as he stepped in and pulled Aziraphale into a hug. “It is one of the few pieces of clothing I actually had made.” 

“You had the snake embroidered?” Aziraphale laughed for what felt like the first time in hours. 

“Listen,” Crowley huffed. “I don’t want to hear it from you mister ‘I’ve worn the same suit for the past two centuries’.” 

“I’m grateful for it.” Aziraphale hugged Crowley back. “We can’t go to any of our usual restaurants when I look like this, though.” 

“What, not interested in sporting my colors?” Crowley meant it as a joke, Aziraphale knew that, but it made him dizzy. He didn’t realize he’d also gone stiff until Crowley held him at arm’s length. “I just said something wrong.” 

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale whispered, shame crashing over him.  _ Broken _ , he thought. Missing his other half even though he stood right in front of him. 

“No, none of that.” Crowley shook his head and put a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, squeezing it. “We’ll figure it out.” 

They shouldn’t have to, Aziraphale thought. But he’d allow it anyway. “Dinner?” He asked with a smile that was difficult to keep up. 

“Dinner.” Crowley hugged him tightly once more before he ushered him out to the car. It would take some time, but once he settled into the Bentley and had a chance to watch the street lights reflect off Crowley’s face, Aziraphale allowed a little bit of hope to take root. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Tuesday & Friday (and sometimes in between depending on whether I can be convinced). 
> 
> Come hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/). There are unlimited coupons for free hugs and high fives.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adjusting isn't easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised my loves, here is a bonus chapter thanks to the bribes of your fellow readers. Glad the first chapter of the final act seemed to hit the spot, now you'll want to buckle in as the real journey begins.

_ Crowley blinked his eyes open and glanced around. He was supposed to be sleeping, yet something had drawn him out of his corporation and into the ether. It was dark around him, but there was soft grass beneath his feet and he was calm. His form flickered, slithering through the air, which was strange considering he still registered feet and arms and silly things like hair. The balance between corporeal and incorporeal was a delicate one.  _

_ Why was he there? Something pulled at him, drew him from the depths of sleep to bring him here. He looked around and about thirty feet noticed the dull glow of candlelight. As he slipped through the darkness and approached he realized the glow was an angel, a particular angel, one whose form was familiar to him despite never encountering him on this plane.  _

_ Aziraphale looked much like himself, though his true form flickered in and out of being at times. Despite there being a human-shaped Aziraphale curled on the ground with wings like the dawn fluffed and draped around him, if Crowley blinked he saw thousands of eyes staring back. Blink again, and there were not two wings but six with flames licking at them. He blinked one last time and it was Aziraphale again, except the glow was back and it drew him in.  _

_ Crowley moved as quietly as he could, desperate not to disturb the angel. It was strange to see him in slumber. Things had been strange since he returned. But as clear as day, glowing beneath his wings, was the familiar gilded golden mark. He frowned as something tickled the back of his mind, something familiar, something  _ warm _ .  _

“Crowley?” Aziraphale shook him gently awake and Crowley opened his eyes and peered at him. He looked radiant in the light of the morning. He’d refused to take off the hoodie and slept in it, the hood pulled up over his curls. His cheeks were red, eyes still drowsy, and Crowley opened up his arms and pulled Aziraphale down to his chest. 

The angel settled contentedly against him. 

“Alright?” Crowley murmured, not quite yet awake. 

“Quite.” Aziraphale was withholding. Crowley bit back a sigh. If he’d been through what Aziraphale had, perhaps he’d withhold too. 

Crowley drifted until Aziraphale spoke up. “Could you take me to see Beelzebub?” 

_ No _ was the answer on the tip of Crowley’s tongue. He didn’t want Aziraphale to go back to Hell, ever. He hadn’t before all of this had happened and he sure as Heaven didn’t want him to do it  _ now _ . But that wasn’t the right answer. An outright denial wouldn’t bring his angel peace and he’d likely go around him and do it anyway. 

“I’ll ask them to come to us,” Crowley offered. “Find neutral ground.” 

“That is, perhaps, the better option. And I’d quite like to go to Tadfield to check on Adam and the rest.” 

Perhaps these things would help bring closure for Aziraphale. Crowley only worried that his angel would find himself alone in the middle of it all. What if no one else remembered? 

_ Please let them remember _ , Crowley prayed.  _ He deserves that much, doesn’t he? _

There was no answer. He hadn’t expected one. Instead he cuddled Aziraphale closer. 

“How about I go pick up some hot chocolate and pastries? I know you like the place down the street.” They had stayed at Crowley’s apartment. He had a bed, after all, though that issue at the bookshop was easily solved with a miracle or two. But he wasn’t going to push it, considering he hardly minded having Aziraphale at his place. 

Aziraphale said nothing for a few moments, but he traced idle patterns against Crowley’s upper arm. Then, “Alright.” 

“You can stay in bed. I’ll bring it to you here.” 

“I might get crumbs in the bed,” Aziraphale pointed out. 

“Crumbs know better than that.” Crowley snorted and gently shifted Aziraphale off of him and into the spot he’d been in. “I’ll put in the request to Beelzebub, too.” 

“Thank you.” Aziraphale’s blue eyes appeared from within the hood. “Really. I know it can’t be easy for you to get back in touch with Hell.” 

“For you Aziraphale, I’d go back to Hell.” 

“Don’t say that.” Aziraphale sat up and grabbed Crowley’s hand. He brought it to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to the knuckles. 

“I promise I won’t go back,” Crowley amended, and then leaned down as he turned their joined hands so he could press kisses to Aziraphale’s knuckles in return. “Wait here, take a little nap. I’ll be back.” 

“Get one of the orange scones, won’t you dear boy?” 

Crowley smiled as he slid his sunglasses into place. “Of course, angel. Anything for you.” 

Later, tuned into the radio on his Bentley, Beelzebub’s secretary sighed. “You’re lucky, traitor. Prince Beelzebub has an opening later today if that isn’t too short notice.” 

“No, it isn’t. Where?” 

“St. James Park. Six o’clock. Be there.” The connection went dead. Crowley sighed and grabbed the bag of pastries and drink holder as he slipped out of his car and headed back up to his angel. 

**

Aziraphale spent the rest of the morning in bed with Crowley. They ate the pastries, Crowley nibbling whenever Aziraphale insisted, and he sipped at hot chocolate while Crowley drank coffee. 

When the pastries were gone and Crowley had just taken a sip of coffee, Aziraphale leaned in and stole a kiss. Crowley made a surprised noise but his mouth went lax and Aziraphale was able to taste. He hummed into it, eyes sliding shut as Crowley set his coffee aside and brought both warm hands up to cup his cheeks. 

They kissed like that for a while, slow and searching, Crowley’s hands never going below his waist. The kisses were tinged with bitter coffee and sweet chocolate that left Aziraphale sighing against Crowley’s mouth. 

“I love you,” he murmured and felt Crowley’s lips curl into a smile against his own. 

“I love you too Aziraphale.” Crowley ran his fingers fondly through Aziraphale’s hair and brought him back into a deeper kiss. 

_ Slow and steady _ Aziraphale thought, breathing in Crowley’s scent and getting lost in the taste of his mouth. 

Eventually they got out of bed and Aziraphale dressed in something that wasn’t Crowley’s hoodie. Crowley left him to go tend to his plants and Aziraphale fussed with his suit in the mirror. He reached up and touched the spot over his mark, sighing. Even through his clothes it was there, a bit like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch, another question mark in an ongoing sea of uncertainty. 

Even with Crowley’s taste in his mouth, it seemed like a piece of him had gone missing. 

They went to the park, Aziraphale’s arm wound through Crowley’s as they walked together. They hadn’t brought anything to feed the ducks and were quacked at in a way that sounded awfully like being chastised. 

“Oh dear.” Aziraphale waved his hand and conjured a bag of peas, tossing a few toward the ducks who changed their tune. 

“You shouldn’t do that. You’ll spoil them.” Beelzebub’s voice was smooth and familiar in its monotone. Aziraphale turned and couldn’t help but smile. He noticed the way Crowley stiffened but couldn’t allow it to distract him. If Beelzebub remembered then they were safe. 

“No harm in a little spoiling.” Aziraphale tossed more peas as the ducks quacked happily, their tails wiggling. “Would you care to try?” He held out the bag. 

Beelzebub had the decency to at the very least look amused by the offer. “No thankszz.” 

“Suit yourself.” He handed the bag to Crowley. “I’m grateful you came.” 

“Save the gratitude. Demonszz don’t need such thingszz.” Beelzebub glanced at Crowley and then back at Aziraphale. “You look alright.” 

Aziraphale let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “As well as I can be.” 

Something conflicted crossed Beelzebub’s face. “You’ve told him, then?” 

“Yes.” Aziraphale also glanced at Crowley. 

“And what do you think of all of it?” Beelzebub asked, directing the question at Crowley. 

“Er.” Crowley grimaced. “It is a lot.” 

Beelzebub frowned. Aziraphale read it as displeasure but didn’t jump to Crowley’s defense. There was no need, he didn’t blame Crowley for his uncertainty. It  _ was _ a lot he was asked to digest and deal with. Aziraphale at times worried it would be too much. 

“Your angel saved the world,” Beelzebub pointed out. “Again.” 

“And from what I understand, you helped him.” Crowley tossed more peas off to their side where the ducks had crept closer. 

“Yeszz.” 

“Why?” 

Beelzebub’s eyebrows rose. “That’s absolutely none of your businesszz.” 

Crowley huffed. “Well thank you for helping him come back to me.” 

“Eugh.” Beelzebub scowled. “Don’t say shit like that, Crowley.” 

Aziraphale couldn’t hold back his smile. “And Gabriel?” 

Beelzebub rolled their eyes. “What about him?” 

“Have you seen him?” Aziraphale didn’t miss Crowley’s confused look. 

“ _ No _ . Satan, you are both so damn nosy.” 

“I just wanted to know if you remembered,” Aziraphale said, changing the subject. Beelzebub looked momentarily grateful. 

“Make sure you’ve not gone off the deep end?” Beelzebub shook their head. “No, it happened.” They looked at Crowley. “Hopefully you haven’t been thinking your angel a liar this whole time.” 

“No.” Crowley put an arm around Aziraphale’s waist and tugged him closer. Aziraphale went willingly and pressed into his side. “But I’m glad he’s not alone.” 

Something softened in Beelzebub’s face. “That he’s not. Aziraphale, try not to call me again. It won’t do if the legions of Hell see me making house calls to an angel.” 

“Of course.” Aziraphale rested his cheek against Crowley’s shoulder. “Be well, Beelzebub.” 

“Right.” They nodded and then turned and, with a few steps, disappeared. 

“Try not to call me again,” Crowley mocked, rolling his eyes. “After all you went through together.” 

“I think it is precisely for that reason that I ought not call them anytime soon.” 

Crowley looked at him. “You don’t want to talk with them more about what happened?” 

“No.” Aziraphale leaned up and pressed a kiss to Crowley’s cheek. “Knowing they remember is enough.” 

Crowley relaxed. “Good. Not sure I could handle another visit from my ex-boss anytime soon.” 

“Come on, my love.” Aziraphale didn’t miss the way Crowley melted a bit under the affectionate address. “I’m feeling up to dinner out again tonight.” 

**

_ The soft darkness was familiar, as was the grass beneath his feet. Crowley puzzled at it all. Another night, another dream, walking through an endless grassy field beckoned toward Aziraphale. This time when he looked up he could see stars across the expanse of the dark sky, glittering like the stars in his wings. He smiled at them.  _

_ He wandered the path to Aziraphale, where his soft glowing light resided. Aziraphale still slept, curled beneath his giant wings, form flickering and then holding. Crowley was tempted to touch his wings and wondered if they would scald him.  _

_ Instead of waking up, this time he was allowed close to the sleeping angel. He was close enough to sit, so he did. Peeking beneath a wing, Crowley could see the glowing gold mark in the space between Aziraphale’s shoulder and neck. Golden swirls matched with freckles like stars, emanating an enticing energy.  _

_ He held his breath as he shifted closer, laying out beside the angel. It all seemed so precarious but he didn’t want to leave his side. Hesitantly, once he was sure he hadn’t disturbed Aziraphale, he stretched out a shimmering black wing and set it over him. He’d protect him, he thought. No matter what.  _

Aziraphale stayed with him for an entire week when Crowley started to really worry about him. He’d had more of the same dreams, the ones where he’d arrive at a sleeping Aziraphale’s side and shield him from the universe with a large wing. They never progressed further than that and Crowley wasn’t sure what to make of them. 

Nor was he sure what to make of Aziraphale’s behavior. The angel warbled between clinging and reluctantly giving Crowley space. Though he occupied Crowley’s apartment at almost all times, he would pick a book up off the shelf and read it, or make Crowley something to eat. When they went out of the apartment, it was always to do something together. 

Crowley didn’t mind, but there had to come a point when Aziraphale could be by himself again. Following Crowley around, making him coffee every morning, doing tasks and making food, it all seemed rather subservient. From what he’d been told about Aziraphale’s time in Hell, it really seemed like he was continuing those patterns. 

That couldn’t be healthy, right? 

He took a long shower to think about it and when he came into the kitchen dressed and ready for the day he found Aziraphale where he expected him, finishing up making eggs and toast. 

“I’ve made breakfast,” Aziraphale smiled. 

“I can see that.” Crowley stepped over and dropped a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.” He grabbed his plate and ushered Aziraphale over to the table. They sat and ate in a companionable silence even as Crowley’s stomach twisted with nerves. 

“So I had something come up,” Crowley said. “I need to pop out of town for a couple of days.” 

“Oh? Where are we going?” Aziraphale asked as he took a bite of his eggs, watching Crowley. 

“You don’t need to come with, Aziraphale. Just need to pop over to Germany. Have a contact there I wanted to check in with after the whole end-of-the-world-that-wasn’t deal.” The lie tasted sour on his tongue but he could do this,  _ had _ to do it. Didn’t he? 

Aziraphale’s face fell. “If you want me to go Crowley you don’t have to make up a lie.” 

“Er. I really do have a contact there.” He did. It just wasn’t really important for him to check in on him. 

Aziraphale stared at his plate. “I’ve overstayed my welcome. I apologize. I should have realized…” He stood abruptly. “Right.” Picking up his plate he started walking back into the kitchen. 

“Angel at least finish breakfast.” Crowley stood and followed. 

“I’m not hungry.” 

“Aziraphale.” 

“ _ Crowley _ ,” Aziraphale growled as he slammed his plate down on the counter. His face then melted into more of a grimace as he leaned on the counter and closed his eyes. He was a perfect picture of misery. “Leave me alone please. I’ll be out of your home shortly.” 

It was one of those moments where his back itched and he wanted to drape a wing over the angel. Instead he nodded silently and left the kitchen, retreating to his office. He listened to the sound of running water and then Aziraphale’s footsteps. He only came out of his office when he heard the front door open and shut. 

The apartment was empty. There was a gnawing sensation in his gut that made him question whether he’d done the right thing. 

**

_ Broken _ . Aziraphale was broken. He walked through the streets of London with Crowley’s hoodie clutched in his arms. He was half a being. Was this what Lenore had experienced when his mate was killed? No wonder he chose to Fall. If it were an option Aziraphale might consider it. 

He lingered for far too long outside of the door to the bookshop before entering. His books brought a small comfort as he crossed the familiar wood floor into the back room. Dropping onto the couch he pulled the hoodie to his face and inhaled. Ginger and citrus and a hint of incense, it comforted him. 

It was his mate’s scent. 

His mate who was gone. Left to a timeline that had been eliminated when everything was fixed. Aziraphale shifted until he could lay on the couch, the hoodie still pressed to his nose, and cried. 

He wept until he fell into an uneasy sleep.

**

_ This time in the ether Crowley could taste Aziraphale’s distress. It was offensive and awoke some strange beast inside of him as he tore across the field to the still-sleeping angel. It took longer for him to get there, the space between them expansive and tedious.  _

_ Eventually he arrived at the angel’s side and found him shivering, his wings nowhere to be seen. This was the first time he’d seen the angel look so vulnerable in this place, as if some piece of him had been stripped away. He tried to speak but no words came out. Instead, he allowed instinct to lead. Lowering himself down to the ground he scooted closer to the angel than he had before.  _

_ Their shimmering energies touched and it seemed to calm Aziraphale. His tremors lessened and Crowley draped one of his wings over him.  _

My mate _ , he thought to himself and was puzzled by it. What did that mean? Why did this seem so familiar? He had been there before, he could swear it. But he couldn’t remember.  _

When he awoke it was barely dawn, but he knew he needed to find Aziraphale. 

**

Aziraphale left the bookshop early in the morning and traced his way through familiar streets. He stepped up in front of the building containing the escalators to Heaven and Hell. Not welcome in either, he stepped inside regardless and walked toward the escalators that went down. 

He tried to breathe through his rising panic in light of both the memories and a broken promise to Crowley. Aziraphale bypassed the secretary who stared at him wide-eyed but said nothing. He walked with his head held high through the familiar Halls and tried not to think about broken angels and collars. 

There were no angels in Hell except for him. Things really had returned to normal. The Halls remained the same. 

Aziraphale followed the path to Beelzebub’s office and stepped inside. Their secretary regarded him with a bland look. 

“Go on in,” she said. “They’re expecting you.” 

Aziraphale nodded and stepped into the familiar back office, shutting the door behind him. He took a seat across from Beelzebub. 

“Does Crowley know you’re here?” They asked. 

“No.” Aziraphale looked at the top of the desk. “He doesn’t control me.” 

“No,” Beelzebub replied carefully. “Not anymore.” 

“I came to see Lenore.” Aziraphale finally lifted his eyes to meet Beelzebub’s impassive gaze. “I - I wanted to talk to him.” 

Beelzebub’s mouth fell into a grim line. “He’s not here, Aziraphale.” 

“What?” Panic started to rise again. 

“When I was in the other Hell, I hadn’t ever heard of him. I only knew about him there because I found the book of favors.”

“Could he have a different name?” 

Beelzebub shook their head. “I don’t know any demon who matched his description.” 

Aziraphale’s heart sank and he tried not to focus on how much he wanted to cry. That’s all he’d been doing recently and he was sick of it. He needed to buck up. Sitting up a little straighter he nodded. “Thank you for your help anyway.” 

“Aziraphale,” Beelzebub called out as he turned to leave. 

“Yes?” He kept his back turned to them. 

“Try Heaven.” 

Aziraphale hesitated and then nodded, leaving. He walked straight out of Hell and resolved to never go back. Instead, he went Up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates Tuesdays & Fridays, sometimes in between depending on who bribes me. 
> 
> You can learn more about how weak for bribes and attention I am by coming and hanging out on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/) with me.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beelzebub claims what is theirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONUS UPDATE! I have continued to receive seriously encouragement (which has honestly blown me away) and as a result, you can thank some of your fellow readers for this bonus chapter, with a normal update coming tomorrow. This chapter takes a break from Aziraphale and Crowley and gives us a peek into Beelzebub and Gabriel. I know not everyone is as head over heels for these two as I am, so this is a totally okay chapter to skip if you don't like the pairing. It has no plot points or anything, it is just about their relationship. 
> 
> As such, this chapter has its own content warnings because these only apply to this chapter and I didn't want to stick them in the regular fic. So please read through these to get an idea of what we're walking into! This is...mostly smut. Cute. But mostly smut. 
> 
> **Content Warning:** Dom/sub relationship, safeword is in play, minor mentions of blood (which can squick folks, I know), orgasm denial, anal plug, pegging, copious amounts of aftercare, mention of a past ptsd flashback

After their visit from Aziraphale, Beelzebub stared across the office for a few minutes before they snapped their fingers and appeared in Heaven. They stomped down the hallway to Gabriel’s familiar office door, ignoring the stares and gasps. They could all go fuck themselves. 

They barged into Gabriel’s office and took pleasure in the look of surprise on Gabriel’s face, along with the look of confusion on Michael’s. 

“Beelzebub,” Michael greeted. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” 

“Get out,” Beelzebub snarled. “I need a word with Gabriel.” 

Michael looked humorlessly between Gabriel and Beelzebub. “I’ll see myself out.” 

Once the door was shut Gabriel began to speak. “What in Heaven are you - oomph.”

Beelzebub dragged him into a nearly violent kiss. He yielded. He always yielded and it was a delicious thing. Gabriel would bend his large body down so that Beelzebub had all the access they could want, submitting to their whims. 

They ran a hand through his short hair and scratched along his scalp as he groaned into their mouth, his large hands resting against their hips. 

“Beelzebub,” he panted when they finally let up. “We can’t do this  _ here _ . What’s wrong?” Gabriel’s eyes searched their face but they let him see nothing. Instead, to shut him up, they kissed him again, tugging on the front of his stupid sweater, pulling him close. 

They snapped their fingers and Heaven faded away. Instead, they stood with Gabriel in the middle of their living room in the apartment they kept on Earth. Gabriel made a startled noise. 

“Michael is going to  _ suspect _ -” Gabriel began but was cut off by a kiss that involved a cutting bite to his lower lip. 

“I don’t care. I don’t give a szzhit. I want you and I’ll have you,” Beelzebub snarled. 

Gabriel’s hands raised to their face and held it, violet eyes boring into them. “Bee.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Beelzebub bared their teeth. 

“Bee,” Gabriel insisted, voice firm. They melted ever so slightly under the intensity of his gaze. 

Normally they planned these excursions. Sometimes over dinner, other times in the midst of a heavy make-out session. Once, Beelzebub had brought Gabriel off whispering about their plans into his ear while touching him on the couch. They’d broken pattern, but the sorrow radiating off of Aziraphale, which should have brought them joy, only made them yearn for Gabriel. 

_ Their _ Gabriel. The right Gabriel. Strong, broad chested, stupid Gabriel. “You’re an idiot,” Beelzebub grumbled. 

“We’ve established that.” Gabriel smiled, his thumb brushing their cheek. 

“I don’t want to talk about it. I want you to let me fuck you up and peg you and I want you to like it. That’s it. That’s the offer.” Beelzebub reached up and grabbed his wrists, tempted to tear his hands off of their cheeks, but they didn’t. They allowed the gentle pressure of broad hands to rest against their face and watched as Gabriel’s pupils dilated. He liked it when they told him what they wanted to do. 

Gabriel sighed in a way that was painfully fond. “Yes, sir.” 

“Ma’am,” Beelzebub corrected. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Gabriel echoed, smiling. Beelzebub lightly slapped his cheek. 

“Now let go of my face and get your damn clothes off.” They herded him back toward the bedroom as he immediately complied, removing his sweater and then his undershirt, revealing to them the rippling muscles of his back. He had a stupidly pleasant corporation and it pissed Beelzebub off sometimes, but they had to give him props: he did the work to maintain it. 

It also made what they liked to do to him all the better. By the time they made it to the bedroom Gabriel was pulling his belt from its loops. He let it drop to the ground carelessly as he unbuttoned his trousers. A moment later he was naked and turned for Beelzebub’s inspection, already half hard. Beelzebub gave him a critical once-over. 

He was in one piece. Nothing appeared out of place.  _ He is okay _ , a traitorous voice inside of their head murmured as a fiercely possessive wave overtook them. They advanced on him, shoving him by his stomach to the bed so they could stand between his legs and kiss him. They did so roughly, all teeth and growls, as Gabriel’s hands drifted tenderly up and down their back. He was always so damn soft when they did this, when Beelzebub was the one in control, and they would be lying if they said they didn’t love it just a little. 

They bit his lip until he cried out into their mouth and both of them could taste blood. Beelzebub snarled and shoved him back on the bed, climbing on top as they leaned in and claimed his mouth again. Their nails shifted into sharp, unforgiving things that pressed into the skin at Gabriel’s shoulders and threatened him. 

He arched up into it, handsome thing that he was. His hands rested on Beelzebub’s back. They let their claws dig in, swallowed the surprised shout, and enjoyed the way his fingers pressed into the muscles at their shoulders. They sat back on his hips, all too aware of the uncomfortable way they sat on his cock but didn’t seem to bother Gabriel too terribly much. 

Beelzebub licked a bit of his blood off of the tip of their fingers as they watched Gabriel. He watched them right back, unable to conceal the clear concern in his eyes. Beelzebub resolved to fuck the concern right out of his stupid face. They scowled. 

“I didn’t give you permission to look at me,” they snapped. 

Gabriel smiled. He was such a moron. Beelzebub’s heart did a little flip at the look of pure adoration on his face. 

“What will you do about it?” He asked, always a glutton for punishment. Beelzebub would show him punishment. They kissed him again briefly and then shoved him back onto the bed. 

“Roll over,” they commanded. He did, managing to do so while they still straddled his hips. “And show me your wings.” 

They saw the muscles in his back tense as Gabriel was momentarily suspended in time. Beelzebub wouldn’t admit it, but they’d groomed each other’s wings. It happened one night after a round of their activities left them both exhausted. Gabriel had been so damn goopy and Beelzebub had been satisfied enough to allow for some cuddling. 

They hadn’t expected to accidentally manifest their wings in their relaxed state, nor had they expected Gabriel to card his fingers gently through them and preen. They’d made him take out his wings next and begrudgingly groomed him, grumbling the entire time despite the pleased noises he’d made and the fact he eventually fell asleep draped over their lap before they even finished. 

Wings hadn’t come into play during sex and it wasn’t exactly fair to ask for them now, but Beelzebub wanted it. To soothe Gabriel, they reached out and rested their hand between his shoulders. 

A moment later Gabriel’s wings manifested, massive and well groomed. Beelzebub regarded them with a sense of pride and ran their fingers through the right wing, pleased when all of the feathers fell back into place. They pressed their face against them, nuzzling, breathing in the smell of ozone and the lingering scent of sulfur that came from their grooming. 

He still smelled like them. He was  _ theirs _ and no one else’s. Beelzebub continued to nuzzle the feathers as fingers covered in their own preening oil began to run through them, staking claim. They wouldn’t be satisfied until Gabriel reeked of them. The angel didn’t seem to mind, his muscles relaxing in increments when he realized this wasn’t part of the game. 

Beelzebub would never hurt his wings. The very thought made them ready to tear the throat out of anyone who thought otherwise. 

Gabriel smartly said nothing, even when Beelzebub leaned back and surveyed their work. Then they leaned forward again, far enough up to offer their oil slick hand to Gabriel. They pressed their fingers against his lips and he eagerly accepted them, tongue lapping the bitterness away. Oh, Gabriel was a sight. An archangel at their mercy, sucking preening oil off of their fingers. 

“Fuck, Gabriel,” Beelzebub growled as they pulled their fingers away from his mouth. He whined at the loss, but they pressed their lips to the back of his neck and then trailed biting kissing down his spine until his skin was covered in marks and goosebumps. “On your knees.” 

He obeyed, shifting onto his knees and Beelzebub ran their hand over his ass and gave it a sharp slap. A visible shudder ran through Gabriel as he pressed his ass back into their hand, asking for more. They gave it to him, smacking him on each cheek until they were red and tender and he finally flinched away. A couple more smacks and they determined he’d had enough, his cock leaking precome onto the sheets. 

“Filthy thing,” Beelzebub chided. “I should have put the cockring on you. You look like you’re going to lose it before I even get the plug in.” 

“No,” Gabriel bit out. “I can hold back.” 

“Can you?” They slapped his ass again and watched as his balls tightened. “A couple more slaps and you’ll come untouched I bet. Damn overeager angels. I thought self control was part of your schtick.” 

Beelzebub realized Gabriel’s breathing was a bit ragged, able to see the muscles of his stomach flexing. They put a hand against his tailbone. 

“Gabriel?” 

“A moment,” Gabriel murmured. “I’m about to come and I don’t want to.” He shivered. Beelzebub’s hunger for the angel laid out in front of them impossibly increased and they were hot everywhere. 

“Oh you beautifully stupid thing,” Beelzebub murmured in awe as they dug the tips of their fingers into the muscles of his lower back, massaging. “You _ are _ about to come untouched. A bit pathetic, isn’t it?” 

They slapped him again and listened to him cry out in shock as he came in spurts all over the comforter. He shuddered with it, his body rocking forward as he thrust into the air. Beelzebub took pity on him and reached around to stroke him through it, enjoying the way his back felt pressed against their chest. They stroked him until he winced with it and let him go, pressing warm kisses to the back of his neck. 

“Good boy,” Beelzebub whispered. 

“Ugh.” Gabriel’s forehead dropped to the blankets. Beelzebub smoothed a hand down his back. 

“I’ll be right back. We’re going to take a break.” They were still fully clothed as they wandered into the kitchen, filling a glass with cold water. They grabbed the dishcloth from the sink and wet it, too, before walking back to the room. Gabriel had shifted onto his no doubt sore ass and sat with his back against the headboard. 

“Here,” Beelzebub offered, helping him drink the water when his hands shook too much to hold the glass. “That one got to you.” 

“It was being called pathetic,” Gabriel admitted with a grimace. Their angel did like a little humiliation every now and again. 

“There’s still more to come,” Beelzebub reminded him after he’d had his fill. They set the water glass aside and used the cloth to clean him up a bit. He huffed. 

“Come here,” he requested and Beelzebub side-eyed him. He had that stupid dopey look on his face, the one that said he wanted to  _ cuddle _ . They reluctantly slid into his arms and indulged him in a few warm kisses before they pulled away and gave him a once over. 

“Back on your knees.” Beelzebub slapped this thigh and then moved to give him the space to do it, waving away the mess on the bed. He resumed his position, cock soft, but that didn’t matter much. He’d get hard again. He always did. 

Beelzebub settled on their knees behind him and ran their hands up and down his back, their mouth soon following. He’d put away his wings which was an honest shame, but they could always ask for them later. For now, their mouth slid all the way down to his tailbone and they bit him, hard, drawing blood and listening for that deliciously painful exhale. 

“Beelzebub,” Gabriel groaned as he arched against their mouth. There had been a time where he’d been shy of pain like that, where he’d flinch away and look wounded. Now he pressed into it, begged for it, had learned to enjoy the certain pains Beelzebub liked to give. 

And there were some he still refused to bear. Beelzebub respected that. Gabriel didn’t enjoy being flayed, or large swaths of blood. They’d sliced too deeply into his back once and despite his ability to heal, Gabriel had been frightened. There was a healthy fear, the kind that got Gabriel hard and wanting, and then there was unhealthy fear. That sort usually led to flashbacks of war and loss, leading to Gabriel panting harshly into their lap as they soothed him and reminded him they weren’t at war anymore. 

Beelzebub enjoyed the copper warmth of Gabriel’s blood on their tongue before they licked the bite clean and sat back. A bottle of lubricant popped into existence, accompanied by thick plug in crimson red. Beelzebub stroked over the red skin of Gabriel’s ass fondly, leaning forward to kiss it, relishing the flinch. 

“Are you going to be good and open for me, Gabriel?” Beelzebub asked casually as they lubed up their fingers and teased down the cleft of his ass. 

Gabriel glanced back and saw the plug. He shuddered. There was a love-hate relationship with this particular toy. They’d tried ones of different sizes and smaller ones Gabriel took with some ease, but this one pushed his limits and his willingness to submit. He whimpered and Beelzebub almost took pity on him, except they saw the way his cock had begun to fill again and knew he was anticipating being full. 

He made them proud and their chest swelled a bit with it. “That’s a good boy.” 

They pressed a finger into him and Gabriel whined, pushing back into the penetration. One finger was easy, he took it without issue, already relaxed and wanting. Two fingers took a moment to adjust to and Beelzebub barely gave it to him, roughly pushing and pulling, a hand steadying Gabriel’s hips. 

Three were in him and it was a stretch. His muscles contracted around their fingers as he let out a low groan and whimpered their name. If they peeked around they could see his fingers curled desperately in the sheets. They snuck in a fourth finger and Gabriel pulled away, the fingers nearly slipping out of him. 

“Ah-ah,” Beelzebub scolded, nails digging into Gabriel’s hip. “If you want me to prepare you then you need to take what I’m going to give you. Otherwise we’ll go straight for the plug and I don’t think you want that.” 

Gabriel whimpered again and it was such a headrush to see one of the strongest beings in the universe reduced to this. Beelzebub leaned down and pressed a kiss to his tailbone. “You can take it, I know you can. I’ve seen you do it. Be still and trust me.” 

They watched his back heave with a deep breath and on the exhale they pushed the four fingers back in. Gabriel keened, his body tensing and then relaxing around the intrusion. Beelzebub dribbled more lubricant on their fingers as they pressed them back in and started a slow thrusting pattern. 

“There you are,” Beelzebub murmured, pleased. “Look at you, I told you that you could take four fingers. Isn’t this a sight. Do you feel full, Gabriel? Tell me how it feels.” 

“Full,” Gabriel gasped out. “Bee.” 

It had been a long time since he’d needed to use a safe word but Beelzebub gently pulled their fingers out and set a hand flush against his lower back. 

“Gabriel, what’s your safe word?” 

Gabriel grunted. Beelzebub didn’t miss the way he thrust against the air, cock hard again. 

“That’s not an answer.” 

“Lightning,” he grit out. “Now please put the plug in me, ma’am.” 

It was Beelzebub’s turn to shiver and they did so with delight. Gabriel was so good. “You certainly asked nicely enough.” 

They applied a healthy amount of lubricant to the plug and eased the tapered end against Gabriel. He relaxed around it and Beelzebub hummed, slowly easing it in. He took it well until a little over halfway, his body tensing as he whimpered. 

“You can take it,” Beelzebub reminded him. “You will take it for me. We’re not going to pause until this whole thing is in your ass.” 

They caught Gabriel’s nod and slid the plug in all the way. Gabriel shouted in surprise and gripped one of the pillows, burying his face in it as the flared end rested outside of him. He’d gone a little soft and Beelzebub quickly remedied that, using their slick hand to stroke him back to full hardness while he rocked mindlessly into the motions. 

“Good,” Beelzebub soothed. They grabbed the dishcloth from earlier and wiped their hands on it before shifting to rest at the head of the bed. “Come here.” 

Gabriel shifted, his body shuddering every time movement stimulated the plug in his ass. He settled between Beelzebub’s legs and sat back on his haunches. Beelzebub dragged their gaze over him, taking in the flush of his chest down to his quivering belly. They reached up and rubbed his nipples with the pads of their fingers before sliding them down, hands coming to rest on his hips.

They glanced up and met his gaze. His eyes were a bit glazed but he leaned down, cupping their face in his hands, and kissed them. Beelzebub smirked into it, carding their fingers through his hair and exchanging tender passes of lips. They ran their hands over his body, tracing the lines of his muscles, enjoying the way his thighs flexed as he leaned further into the kiss. 

He eventually rested his forehead against theirs, panting as Beelzebub pet him. “I think I could use a drink, hm? Why don’t you fetch one for me and meet me in the living room.” 

Gabriel groaned under his breath and kissed Beelzebub again. “Yes ma’am,” he whispered as he slid off the bed. Beelzebub watched him go, enjoying the view before getting to their feet and strolling into the living room. There was a lovely throne chair - Crowley wasn’t the first one to think of it, the damn bastard - that had a velvet red cushion set on the ground to the right of it. 

They took a seat, tossing their feet up on the ottoman, and barely glanced up when Gabriel appeared and knelt. He offered them their drink and they took it, shifting it to one hand while they set the other on Gabriel’s head. 

“May I rest my head on your leg, ma’am?” Gabriel asked and Beelzebub tried to ignore the tender thing in their chest that seemed an awful lot like love. 

“Yes.” They watched as he scooted closer and nuzzled against their thigh. Beelzebub carded their fingers through his hair and took a sip of the whiskey he’d brought them. They enjoyed the quiet, particularly Gabriel’s obedience in it. When they first began this whole endeavor he’d been an absolute brat, constantly talking, nervous in silence. 

Now he sat at their feet, head in their lap, practically asleep despite the plug inside of him and his half-hard cock. He’d learned to relax at their feet. There was the rush of damn fondness again. 

Their whiskey glass empty, they tugged on Gabriel’s ear. “Rise and shine.” 

Gabriel inhaled sharply and sleepily gazed up at them, smiling. It was an unguarded thing, almost too genuine for Beelzebub to stand looking at. 

“You’re an idiot,” they murmured, running their fingers through his hair again. 

“Your idiot, ma’am,” he replied, eyes still glassy. But his smile turned into a grin and Beelzebub flicked him on the nose. 

“Come on, up, my idiot.” They waited for him to stand before they did, ushering him back to the bedroom. Their hand lingered against his back before they pushed him toward the bed. “Hands and knees, archangel. You know the drill.” 

Despite his great discomfort with the plug going in, he’d admitted to them once that it coming out was worse. They could see it in the tense line of his back. No matter how many times this was done, he still anticipated the discomfort. Beelzebub wondered if it was the long moment of being empty that bothered him the most. 

No matter. 

He took the position and Beelzebub took their time finding the harness and the dildo they liked to use. It was a hefty toy, but a bit less thick than the plug. They preferred a smooth slide when they fucked him with a toy and at this point, after prolonged play, so did Gabriel. 

They left most of their clothes on, pulling the harness on over them. There was no need to make an effort, Beelzebub enjoyed the control and order they got to exact over Gabriel far more than any physical pleasure (though sometimes Gabriel insisted and it was always softer then, when he took their cock into him or they rode his with a cunt). They caught a look from him just as they secured the harness and toy around their hips. 

“Would you take your shirt off, ma’am?” Gabriel asked quietly and tried to hold eye contact but eventually glanced away. 

“Why?” Beelzebub asked as they walked over to the bed, reaching out to run their hand down along his spine. 

“I want to feel your skin,” he whispered, shuddering. Ah. Beelzebub rubbed the base of his skull in reply, enjoying the way he started to relax beneath their touch. 

“Alright.” Beelzebub stepped away and removed their clothes from the waist up, leaving them bare. Gabriel caught a brief look and smiled. 

Beelzebub took up their spot behind him on the bed and once more rested a steadying hand against his lower back. “Deep breath, Gabriel.” 

He obeyed. They grabbed the flared base of the plug and began to slowly pull it out. The noise Gabriel made was something between a whimper and a keen. He cried out and then choked on it as the plug was removed, leaving him open and slick. His hips rocked back and forth in the air, seeking any sort of reasurrence, and Beelzebub gave it to him in the form of the dildo pressed against his hole. 

They had lubed it and hummed as they pressed the head in. “I never leave you empty for long.” 

The thrust was, perhaps, a bit unnecessarily harsh but they did it anyway. Gabriel would take it. He always did, and he took it all so beautifully. 

“My lovely heavenly slut,” Beelzebub murmured as they seated their cock deep inside of him. Gabriel shuddered around it, leaning his head down on the bed. The arch of his spine was a thing of wonders, marked with their earlier kisses and bites. He belonged to them in the way he should: through free submission, through choice. 

They didn’t want to think about the other Gabriel and his forced servitude. 

Beelzebub pulled out and thrust completely back in, rocking Gabriel’s body with it. He moaned. After a few more full thrusts, Beelzebub began to shorten them, rocking in and out of Gabriel in a rhythm of their own making. Beneath them, Gabriel’s breathing hitched and changed with every thrust, becoming more ragged by the minute. 

This was the best part, really. Gabriel didn’t always reach this point but Beelzebub could feel it, his exhaustion and elation mingling together in a haze that left him open and pliant. It was a space they got to inhabit together, Beelzebub his fierce protector as he gave himself over to them. 

“Please, please,” Gabriel panted as he began to push back into every thrust. Reaching around, Beelzebub found his leaking cock and began to stroke it. 

“Oh Gabriel, look at you. You’re a hard, dripping mess, getting it all over the sheets and everything.” They made sure to press their chest against his back, remembering his earlier request for skin-on-skin. He was so warm beneath them, his skin flushed. They nibbled at the nape of his neck as they gave him a series of particularly rough thrusts. 

“Sorry, can’t - uh,” he groaned, arching his back to press harder against Beelzebub’s chest. “Nng, please.” 

“Please what?” Beelzebub slowed their strokes and their thrusts, purposely mistiming them to draw it out. Gabriel gripped at a pillow and whined. 

“Please let me come, ma’am,” he begged. “Please. I can’t hold out.” 

“I’ve barely been fucking you for five minutes,” Beelzebub tsk’ed. “And you already want permission to come? What about  _ my _ pleasure, Gabriel? Hm?” 

He tensed, then relaxed, and that was the ticket. The front of him dropped to the bed so that his chest rested against the sheets, body going pliant. “Yours,” he murmured. “I’m yours.” 

“That’s right. I’m glad you finally remembered, not that I mind having to fuck it into you. Now what are you going to do?” 

“Take what you give me,” Gabriel replied. 

“Good. And I promise I will let you come, but I need you to hold off for another couple of minutes alright? I’m not finished yet.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

They began rocking faster into his body, hands sliding along his slanted back. Finally their hands rested on the back of his shoulders and they drove their cock into Gabriel until their thighs slapped against him, filling the room with sound. Gabriel was breathless, gasping and whining, no longer able to gather more air to make louder sounds. 

He was wrecked and precisely where Beelzebub liked to see him. Then they pulled out and Gabriel made a strangled noise of protest. “No!” He yelped, shivering. 

“You don’t tell me no, Gabriel,” Beelzebub reminded him in a low voice. They slapped his ass and he shuddered. 

“Please.” He sounded so desperate, another spurt of liquid coming out of his cock and dribbling down onto the comforter. 

Beelzebub scooted around him, shoved him back, then settled on the bed on their back. They motioned him forward, his body massive and looming over theirs, yet they didn’t have to worry. They didn’t fear him. Here was Gabriel the great archangel hovering over them, his cock red and weeping, his face devastated and begging. 

Beelzebub guided his hips down onto their cock and watched the look of relief spread across Gabriel’s face. 

“I’ll remember you telling me no, Gabriel,” Beelzebub warned. “But right now I want you to fuck yourself on my cock until you come.” 

“W-where?” 

Beelzebub tapped their chest. “Right here. You wanted me shirtless.”

Gabriel groaned and began to grind his hips down, taking Beelzebub’s cock beautifully as he used it to pleasure himself. From this angle Beelzebub got to watch, got to appreciate the way his abs flexed and his hands twitched. His thigh muscles were a sight to behold and they reached out to touch them, running their hands along the strain. 

“C-can I? I’m so close,” he whimpered. He wasn’t touching himself which Beelzebub found interesting. 

“Yes. In whatever way you’d like.” 

His hand immediately went to his cock and he established a rhythm, rocking back on their cock while stroking his own. “O-oh, oh, Bee, please.” 

They weren’t even sure what he was begging for, but they jerked their hips up anyway to meet his downward grinding. He shouted as he came, his whole body shuddering right there for Beelzebub to see. Stripe after stripe of come landed on their chest and belly and they watched with delight as Gabriel unraveled. He continued to rock himself on their cock long after he was finished, shivering, lost in whatever space he’d managed to slip into. 

Finally, he stilled and opened hazy violet eyes. 

“Good,” Beelzebub praised. “Now clean me up.” 

He slid off of their cock and bent down over their chest and stomach, eyes closed as he licked his come off of their skin. When they were clean enough they tugged him up into a kiss and tasted him too, growling with possessive pleasure. “Mine,” they whispered against his lips. 

“Yours,” Gabriel murmured. Then he collapsed onto his side and Beelzebub realized he was still trembling. He watched them warily. They’d set a poor precedent in the beginning about aftercare, far more eager to fuck Gabriel up and leave him. Now that they were more involved they’d realized in doing so, distrust had built up. 

He still expected them to leave, sometimes. They wouldn’t. They would prove him wrong every time from then until the end of the world. Instead of pushing him away they denied their instincts and opened their arms, welcoming the look of relief on Gabriel’s face as he nestled close. The harness and toy were miracled away.

He napped with his head on their chest, Beelzebub petting his hair. When he finally came back to himself, all languid and loose, he wrapped his arms around them and pulled them close. 

“What do you need?” Beelzebub murmured. “You should drink a glass of water. Rinse off.” 

Gabriel shook his head and nuzzled Beelzebub’s neck. “I need to stay with you.” 

“Alright.” It was, after all, his call. He’d given Beelzebub what they wanted, now it was his turn to be doted on. 

“Will you tell me what happened?” Gabriel asked, voice soft, one of his hands smoothing down Beelzebub’s bare side. “What led to this?” 

“What makes you think I wasn’t just looking for a quick fuck?” They tried not to sound testy. It didn’t work. 

“Bee.” Gabriel huffed and kissed their pulse. “We’ve been doing this for years. You’ve never come in like that.” 

Beelzebub stared at the ceiling. Stupid archangel and his stupid feelings. Couldn’t he just take a fuck and call it a day? They sighed. 

“Sometime I’ll tell you,” Beelzebub offered. “Not right now.” 

“What do you need right now?” It wasn’t the right question. Or perhaps it was, but it wasn’t the question Gabriel was supposed to be asking when his ass was still red, lip swollen, with bites all over him. 

“You,” Beelzebub replied. 

Gabriel smiled that stupid, dopey smile of his. Beelzebub merely settled closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Tuesday & Friday (even though evidence suggests I am easily bribed otherwise). 
> 
> Come hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/).


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale visits Heaven, then has a conversation with Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning. I'm glad folks didn't mind the side trip into Gabriel and Beelzebub's world! Now, though, we're back to the main plot line from here on out including appearances by some OCs! Thank you all as always for your continued support and interest in this project. It is exciting to see people responding so whole heartedly to something I've written. 
> 
> So enjoy.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” the receptionist said, eyes wide as they looked Aziraphale up and down. “You’re - you’re banned!” 

Aziraphale offered them a consoling smile. “I’m afraid that’s not quite acceptable at the moment. I am looking for someone.” 

“I can’t give you anything,  _ traitor _ .” 

“Ansanel,” Michael’s voice came from the hallway and she appeared a moment later. “What seems to be the problem?” 

Aziraphale’s eyes snapped to the angel who, now that he knew their name,  _ did _ look like Ansanel. He stared at him. Ansanel looked startled by both his stare and Michael’s sudden appearance. 

“This is Aziraphale, angel of the Eastern Gate. He’s not supposed to come up here.” 

“Those orders have changed,” Michael replied. “He is allowed here, despite no longer working for Heaven.” 

“By w-whose authority?” Ansanel had the balls to ask. Aziraphale was impressed. 

Michael flicked her eyes upward and that was enough of an answer for both of them. Ansanel deflated, Michael looked at Aziraphale curiously. 

“What brings you here, Aziraphale?” 

“I’m looking for an angel who may go by the name Lenore?” He grimaced. “I’m not really sure. It is a bit of a long shot.” 

“What is your business with him?” 

“He’s...he’s a friend.” 

“I don’t think you have many friends here anymore,” Michael reminded him. Right. Of course not. Averting the apocalypse and saving lives meant people didn’t like him. Lovely. 

“Are you going to help me or not?” He snapped and Michael tilted her head. 

“There’s an angel who goes by the name of Lenore up in the records room. If you can’t find him, look for Rosenel. She’ll likely know where he is.” 

Aziraphale nodded. “Thank you.” He tried to brush by Michael who stopped him with a hand on his arm. He tensed and glanced at her. 

She stared at him for an uncomfortable moment and then let him go. He brushed off her touch and stomped through the halls of Heaven, headed straight for records. 

He was greeted at the front records desk by a lovely looking angel he didn’t know. She had curly brown locks of hair that fell just beyond her ears and rose-pink eyes. Her skin was dark, her smile as bright as the sun. She wore a flowing yellow dress with long sleeves and a necklace that was a ring on a chain hanging down among the folds of fabric. 

“Hello, how can I help you?” Her voice was musical. Soft. 

“I’m, er, looking for someone. Lenore?” 

Her face lit up. “Oh? Really? Lenore, my love,” she turned and Aziraphale’s eyes widened. If he had a heart that was necessary, it likely would have stopped. “Someone is here to see you.” 

She disappeared around the corner and Aziraphale replayed what she’d said over and over in his mind. A moment later she appeared, a long, lanky angel in tow. It was Lenore, with greying long hair pulled back into a bun and familiar owl feathers hanging off of it. He wore a cardigan smudged with ink and peered at Aziraphale over a pair of glasses perched on his nose. 

“Who is this, Rosenel?” Lenore asked. Aziraphale tried to ignore the sadness he felt at the lack of recognition. He should be happy, after all. Lenore never fell. His mate lived. 

“I don’t know how you don’t recognize him. He’s the one who stopped the war.” She smiled brightly. “Thank you for that, by the way. We were a bit worried there.” 

Lenore glanced at her and then back at Aziraphale. “Er, yes. Not that we should mention that in earshot of the archangels.”

“My pleasure,” Aziraphale offered an awkward smile in return. He held out his hand. “It is nice to meet both of you.” 

Rosenel took his hand and shook it firmly. Lenore glanced at it, glanced at Aziraphale, and then sighed and took his hand too. 

“The pleasure is ours,” Rosenel insisted. “Now what can we do for you?” 

“I had hoped…” What had he hoped for? That Lenore would recognize him, for one. That he would be able to talk to him about his troubles. That he could share that he wasn’t sure what to do about Crowley, or what to do about the mark on his shoulder. He was tired of walking around feeling as if he were half a being. 

There were tears in his eyes before he knew it, which seemed to alarm them both. 

“Rosie,” Lenore said to Rosenel. “I think a bit of tea is in order.” 

“You have tea?” Aziraphale asked with a sniffle, stubbornly wiping his eyes. 

“Lenore is a fan of Earth,” Rosenel explained. “Tea in particular. Come,” she motioned around the desk. “Lenore, find this poor boy a place to sit, won’t you? He came to see you after all.” 

“Right, right.” Lenore gazed at Rosenel with obvious love in his eyes before he led Aziraphale to a back room that looked more like a sitting room than an office. There were armchairs with files everywhere and a few books scattered in between. “Sit, please.” 

Aziraphale took the offered arm chair and Lenore took the other. Rosenel appeared a moment later with a tray that boasted tea cups and a plate of biscuits. She set it down on top of some files and offered Aziraphale one of the cups. He took it and cradled it in his hand, watching as she handed the second one off to Lenore before she kissed him on the top of his head and left. 

“Nice office,” Aziraphale murmured, motioning around them. 

“Bit of a mess, but I’ve been working here a long time. I have my methods.” Lenore took a sip of tea. “So you said you were looking for me?” 

“Right.” Aziraphale stared down at his tea, wishing the leaves would give him some idea of what he was supposed to do. “I know you don’t know me but I...I know you. I think.” 

Lenore looked at him, puzzled. “Say more.” 

Aziraphale tried to skirt the outright truth but the longer he looked into Lenore’s owlish eyes, the harder it became. Soon enough, tears spilling down his cheeks, he gave an overview of what he’d been through. Lenore listened. 

“And now,” he picked back up in the present day. “I’ve. I’ve been  _ mated _ , or  _ bonded _ to him and he’s sent me off. I feel horrible. Like I’ve made some terrible mistake.” He’d set his empty teacup aside a while back and now used a handkerchief to dab at his face. 

“It is an old ritual,” Lenore murmured, looking pensive. “And you said you have a mark?” 

Aziraphale tugged down his shirt to show it. Lenore made a soft humming sound. 

“Does your mate love you?” He asked. 

“He does,” Aziraphale replied. “But he’s...he’s not really my mate. He’s not the one who did this to me. He’s different.” 

Lenore rubbed his chin. “Mm. I don’t think that’s quite how it works. Not that I could speak to something the Almighty Herself created, but I’m not merely bound to Rosenel in this time and place. We’re bonded across universes, across galaxies. We all exist in a different plane as much as we exist in these forms.” He motioned to himself. “Bonding happens outside of these corporations of ours.” 

“What?” It didn’t make any sense until Aziraphale allowed himself to remember. He could recall the gentle darkness and Crowley’s shimmering form dancing around him. They had been elsewhere, something beyond themselves. “Even if that’s the case, wouldn’t he know then?” 

Lenore shrugged. “It is all a bit -” 

“Don’t say it,” Aziraphale snapped. 

“Ineffable.” Lenore offered him a sympathetic smile. “It isn’t a science.” 

“Then how do I fix it?” Aziraphale was miserable. He rubbed his eyes and sank into the chair. 

“Have you tried asking him out on a date?” 

“Sorry?” Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “What?” 

“A date. Humans do it. I suppose we here in the Heavens would call it courtship. Humans have the right idea, though. Take a prospective partner out, get to know them. You said most of your romance happened in another timeline, so perhaps to get back to that you ought to do a little romancing here?” Lenore picked up his tea again and took a sip. “Couldn’t hurt to try. It might help you reconnect.” 

A date. That was Lenore’s grand advice. Ask Crowley out on a date? He frowned. It made too much sense and seemed a bit too obvious, but could that be it? Could it be that simple? Had he been starting this whole thing on the wrong foot?

“You look distressed,” Lenore pointed out. “Would you like some more tea, perhaps with something a bit stronger in it?” 

“Yes, please.” 

Lenore smiled and left Aziraphale momentarily, returning with Rosenel who gave them both hot toddies. 

“Did you court her?” Aziraphale asked after Rosenel left the room. 

Lenore chuckled. “She’s the one who pursued me. I was a bit of an airhead back then. She invited me to watch them form the rings around Saturn and from there it was easy.” 

That gave Aziraphale an idea, but he still spent a few more hours chatting with Lenore.

He eventually returned to Earth and made his way to the book shop only to stop partway down the block. A familiar figure sat on the steps, head in his hands. Crowley. Aziraphale hurried forward and came to a stop in front of him. 

Crowley looked up, sunglasses in place, but Aziraphale could still see the way his face relaxed into relief. 

“Angel.” 

“Crowley.” 

“I…” He hesitated and then dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry for lying to you before. I should have said what I was thinking instead of trying to skirt around it.” 

“Thank you.” Aziraphale fidgeted with his waistcoat. “Would you come in? You look cold.” 

“Been sitting out here for a couple of hours,” Crowley admitted. “I didn’t want to take the chance of missing you.” 

Aziraphale offered his hand and helped Crowley to his feet before he unlocked the shop and let him in. It was still strange to Aziraphale to be able to walk into his shop and realize he was back in the life he knew best. Some part of him expected to walk straight back into Hell and find that all of the recent occurences had been nothing but a dream. 

“Tea?” Aziraphale asked as he made for the back room. 

“No thank you.” Crowley followed, taking up his usual spot on the couch. He didn’t sprawl careless as was his usual way, but sat with his legs crossed at the knee, hands on his lap. Aziraphale made himself tea, watching the kettle boil. 

“Aziraphale.” 

He turned and looked over his shoulder. Crowley had lasted all of a minute on the couch before he was on his feet again, body practically vibrating with nervous energy. “Yes?” Aziraphale asked. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“So you’ve said. There’s no need to keep apologizing. I overreacted. We both could have stood to have a conversation, I imagine.” The kettle clicked off so Aziraphale turned back to make his tea. He nearly spilled it when Crowley’s hand touched his shoulder gently. He didn’t turn. He stared at the steaming hot water. 

“That’s why I came. I thought we could have that conversation, if you’re up for it?” Crowley’s hand lingered and then disappeared. Aziraphale missed the warmth and steadiness of it. He nodded. 

“Of course.” 

By the time he turned around Crowley had stepped away, over to the couch. He sat on it and Aziraphale took the armchair, stiff with his tea in his lap. He glanced at Crowley who wore his sunglasses but appeared to be watching him. He tried to offer a smile but it faltered. Somehow being in the room with him made his heart ache and his back itch. 

“So.” Crowley rubbed the back of his neck. “Before, when you were at my place. I was worried you were trying to be like you had been with him.” 

The statement hung out in the air and Aziraphale regarded it with a measure of detachment. Crowley was right, after all. He had been. He’d been trying to fill the same footprints with the hope that Crowley would know, would remember. That he would feel the connection as strongly as Aziraphale still did, a thread from his heart straight into the ether. 

“And I should have said that, we could have talked about it. You’ve been through so much and I realize now that kicking you out of my place wasn’t probably the most helpful thing I could have done. I didn’t lie when I said I loved you, Aziraphale, I just...I’m worried you love a me that isn’t, well,  _ me _ .” Crowley grimaced. 

Aziraphale wished he had been smart enough to wear sunglasses as tears gathered in his eyes. He leaned forward and set his tea on the coffee table in a spot between books. Then he rested back in the chair. 

He thought of Anathema’s cottage, he and Crowley in the upper room, the fear on Crowley’s face when he admitted his love. The surge of love Aziraphale had felt so clearly in return. Closing his eyes, hot tears fell over his cheeks leaving searing trails. 

“Angel.” Crowley sounded so lost and Aziraphale understood. He wasn’t the same as he had been, and Crowley wasn’t the same either. A piece of him wondered if they could click back together again, if they could even be friends. Every time he opened his mouth to say something he immediately shut it. 

He remembered the pain too in that moment, Crowley’s voice sounding just as betrayed as it had after that first claiming. Just as lost. His skin crawled with the memories of teeth and nails, of brutal touches that made him nauseous. The pull of love to someone who had been so equally cruel seemed so foolish in retrospect but he couldn’t deny it. 

“Can I touch you?” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale wasn’t sure if it was from a memory or real because the next thing he knew he gasped with a sob and crashed back into his body, a trembling mess. Was this what humans experienced when they went through trauma? He’d seen them from the outside, offering a blessing or a comfort to a tormented heart, but he’d never experienced something like this. 

“Angel, shh, please, can I do something?” 

Aziraphale nodded frantically in his sobs and there were hands on him, pulling him close into a tight embrace. 

“Aziraphale.” Crowley kept murmuring his name, petting his hair. He allowed the grief to flow through him as he silently cursed God, and Adam, and the circumstances that led him down this path. 

It was a while before he realized he was no longer upright, but sprawled on a soft surface, Crowley’s bed, in his apartment. Crowley continued to hold him, arms unceasing in their gentle press, and Aziraphale’s face remained buried in his chest. His breathing had begun to even out, the sobs lessening, the memories fading. 

Sniffling, he nudged his head up under Crowley’s chin. 

“There you are.” Crowley sounded worried, a note of anxiety in his tone. “I’m here, Aziraphale. I’m not going to leave. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how much you were hurting. I’m so sorry. You always seem so strong and put together I forgot that you went through literal Hell.” 

That’s what it was, wasn’t it? Hurt. Exhaustion. He’d fallen into his old patterns with this Crowley because at least those were safe and familiar. His mind still reeled from what he had been through.

“You can stay here with me however long you want but we have to keep talking,” Crowley insisted. “Not tonight, but we have to figure this out. I love you, Aziraphale. I wasn’t lying about that but I want to make sure we’re building something between us, not living out what was between you and him.” 

“Could I get some water?” Aziraphale asked softly. He heard Crowley, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“Of course. You wait here, alright?” Crowley pet a hand through his hair before he slipped out of Aziraphale’s grasp. 

The rest of the night was filled with Crowley’s gentle fussing, bringing Aziraphale water, ordering takeout that they ate quietly on the couch. 

Then they returned to bed. Together. 

Aziraphale settled easily into Crowley’s arms, too tired to do much else. 

“Try to get some rest,” Crowley suggested and Aziraphale didn’t need to be told twice. He slipped into rest, if for no other reason than to escape the storm of emotions that lashed at him. 

_ Aziraphale woke to darkness and an endless night sky. He sat up and looked around, realizing he was alone. “Crowley?”  _

_ There was no answer. He bit his lower lip nervously and tucked his wings around him. Crowley was supposed to be there, wasn’t he? They weren’t supposed to be apart. He should be there.  _

_ “Where is he?” Aziraphale asked the stars as he stood, the grass soft beneath his bare feet. “He should be here.”  _

_ No one answered.  _

_ “Crowley…” Aziraphale shivered and sat back down. He remained alone as he watched the stars shine, tracing constellations the humans could only find in the depths of their imaginations. He thought about what it might be to dive into a freefall, to be consumed by the endless sky, and then thought nothing more.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates Tuesdays & Fridays unless someone convinces me otherwise. 
> 
> As always, you can come hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/). I love chatting!


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale thinks about Before and After, and makes someone's day a little brighter in the park.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I just wanted to give y'all a bonus update because I love you.
> 
> Also, as a result of the love and support for this fic I've made a donation to [RAINN](https://donate.rainn.org/). It is a national organization that helps people who have experienced sexual trauma. In fanfiction we get to play with hard topics through characters that, at the end of the day, aren't real. But I try to keep in mind that the things I explore in this fic, the topics I try to tackle, are things that _do_ happen to people in various ways, and there are people going through recovery right now that need loving, supportive, and informed people helping them get their life back on track. 
> 
> So anyway. A bonus update for all of you, with a regular update tomorrow. Love you!

“Are you sure?” Crowley asked the next morning as Aziraphale put his coat back on and checked himself in the mirror. 

“Yes, dear boy. I have things to tend to at the bookshop.” He offered a small smile. “I’ll be in touch. Perhaps we can do dinner tomorrow?” 

“Right.” Crowley studied him, his eyes bare and brimming with concern. “You know how to reach me.” 

“Quite.” Aziraphale hesitated at the door and then, without looking back, let himself out. 

He walked for a while, trailing through London. Sometimes he stopped to watch the people around him. A couple walked down the street arm in arm, the young man listening very carefully to the story the woman he was with was telling. A businessman in his expensive suit and even more expensive watch walked by, chatting animatedly on his cellphone. 

Aziraphale rode the tube, taking the line to the end and then doubling back. He blessed a mother wrangling three children under the age of five and made silly faces at a baby that had been otherwise inconsolable. When he finally tired of tunnels and the underground (too many memories of war returning, huddled masses hiding together as bombs dropped above) he made his way to a nearby park. 

As he walked he listened to the hearts and minds of the humans around him. A father chased his daughter around a playground, the girl squealing with delight and the father practically glowing with pride and affection. A young man talked on the phone with his friend in another country, chatting about politics and the state of the world. Two women in business casual sat on a bench enjoying their lunches, speaking about deadlines and families. Aziraphale absorbed it all, always an angel at the end of the day. If nothing else was certain, there was divine grace that flowed through his veins and it helped him forget his problems. 

A young woman in her mid-twenties on a bench caught his attention. A darkness settled around her and he slowed his walk. She had her phone out and appeared to be scrolling mindlessly but he could see from the bounce of her leg and her posture that something was amiss. Loss, perhaps. He continued to walk, passing her and sitting on a bench one over, casting glances her way. Yes, it was loss. There was a familiar grief that hung around her, not for a partner though, but a friend. 

She’d lost a dear friend. He could see images of him in his mind as if sharing her thoughts, memories flickering by so fleetingly. How did humans do it? 

He miracled a single white rose and stood, doubling back to approach her. She looked up with a normal degree of trepidation, brow furrowed. 

“Can I help you?” She was American. A tourist, then, or a student studying abroad. 

“Yes, I only mean to take a moment of your time. You seemed like you could use this.” He offered her the rose. 

Hesitantly she reached out and took it, but the fear never really left her eyes. It was a natural reaction to an angel, even one as man-shaped as he was. To combat it he put out as much reasurrence as he could, smiling. 

“Thanks?” She studied the rose and then looked back up at him. “Are you trying to sell me something?” 

“No, my dear. I only wanted to say that I was sorry for your loss.” 

Confusion sprang up, followed quickly by relief. That was Aziraphale’s doing, of course, as he blessed her with a measure of peace. She stared at the rose as he walked away, not quite remembering the face of whoever gave it to her. It was better that way. 

He walked back to the bookshop after that, losing himself in inventorying the new volumes that Adam had bestowed upon him. It reminded him that he ought to find the boy, make sure he was alright, see if he remembered any of it. 

Aziraphale lost track of time until he heard his name called from the front of the shop. He’d been distracted by one of his misprint Bibles, reading through Isaiah. 

“Angel?” Crowley’s voice was closer so he shut the book and set it aside, rising from the armchair to meet Crowley in the shop. 

“Everything alright?” 

“Yeah, you said you wanted to do dinner tonight.” Crowley looked puzzled. “Did you change your mind?” 

“I had said tomorrow, hadn’t I?” 

“Aziraphale.” Crowley shook his head. “It  _ is _ tomorrow. You said that yesterday. Get stuck in a book again?” 

“Oh dear. I must have.” It was strange not to need sleep. He’d spent so long feeling the exhausting pull toward rest only to now be back to his usual self. It troubled him. It must have shown on his face because Crowley stepped closer and rested a hand on the side of his face, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. 

“Okay?” Crowley leaned back. 

“Quite.” Aziraphale reached up and took Crowley’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Crowley smiled. 

“Where did you want to go?” 

“I thought sushi might be a nice option.” 

“Of course you did.” Crowley squeezed his hand and peered at him over the top of his sunglasses. “I don’t think there’s ever been a time where sushi wasn’t on the menu.” 

“Mm. It is a most wonderful invention, my dear.” 

“Alright then, come on. We’ll go to your favorite.” 

Hand in hand, which left Aziraphale pleasantly warm, they walked in the fading summer heat to sushi. Other than the gentle touches and Crowley bumping their feet together beneath the table, it seemed like any other time they had been together. Before. So strange now to have a Before and an After. He could never be what he was Before and he wasn’t yet sure what he was going to be After.

Crowley tapped the back of his hand and he glanced up from his sake. “Yes?” 

“You left me for a moment, angel,” Crowley offered him a half-smile and reached up to take off his glasses. It was nice to see his eyes. “You alright?” 

“Yes.” He swallowed, then shook his head. “No. Oh, Crowley, I don’t know.” 

“What were you thinking about?” They were tucked away in a little private booth, a platter of sushi half eaten in front of them, a bottle of sake empty at the end. 

“Before and after,” Aziraphale admitted. He had, after all, promised to talk to Crowley. “I’m, well, I’ll never be the same, will I?” 

“Is that such a bad thing?” 

“You tell me.” Aziraphale looked down at his napkin, worrying it in his hands. 

“I think,” Crowley sat back in his seat. “I think we’re never the same. You’re not necessarily the same as you were before everything happened, but you also weren’t really the same as you were before the apocalypse didn’t happen. You were different after the antichrist, after the second World War, after Bastille. Aziraphale, we’re always changing. We’re always impacted by the things that happen to us and around us. It isn’t…” He sighed. “If we stay the same, I think it means we’re not living, not experiencing the world, the universe.” 

Aziraphale took a sip of his sake. It burned down his throat. 

“Have I changed over the years? The centuries?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale finally met his gaze. 

“Of course.” 

“Does it make you unhappy?” 

“No!” Aziraphale was quick on the reply, then huffed. Crowley smiled because his point had been made. 

“I’m not saying that you shouldn’t mourn the loss of what was Before,” he put emphasis on the word. “Or that you shouldn’t have negative feelings about what happened to you. But getting caught up in not being exactly who you were before something big happened doesn’t seem very logical.” 

“Perhaps not.” But despite being an ethereal being, logic didn’t come easily to Aziraphale given the circumstances. 

“I love you,” Crowley said softly, reaching across the table to lay his hand over one of Aziraphale’s. 

“I just worry you’ll grow tired of how slowly I have to go,” Aziraphale murmured. 

“I’ve waited for thousands of years, angel. I’d wait thousands more for you.” 

“Would you like to come back to mine, my dear?” Aziraphale lifted his gaze, overwhelmed by Crowley’s declaration. “I think the shop might have some lodgings above it now.” 

“I’d love to.” Crowley squeezed his hand and then caught the waiter’s attention for the cheque. He paid, then led Aziraphale out of the restaurant with a guiding arm around his waist. 

It was a quick walk back to the bookshop and an easy jaunt up a set of stairs that had at one time been a ladder leading to an attic. Now the full staircase led to a flat above the shop, equipped with the things Aziraphale could remember people usually had in them. A bedroom, a kitchen, a small living room, a dining nook, and a bathroom. 

“Nice place,” Crowley pointed out, letting Aziraphale leave his side to look about the newly formed flat. 

“Thank you. Could use some work.” 

“We can work on it together, if you’d like.” 

Aziraphale glanced over his shoulder and felt a smile tug at his lips. “I think I’d like that very much, Crowley.” 

They shared a couple glasses of wine and then changed for bed. 

“I could get used to you embracing the whole sleeping thing,” Crowley remarked as he sat on the edge of the bed. It was dressed in soft, earth brown sheets with a fluffy cream and brown tartan comforter. 

“It is an easy enough thing to be tempted into.” Aziraphale finished buttoning his pajama shirt before he joined Crowley on the bed. They sat side-by-side for a moment, thighs pressed together, shoulders bumping. 

Then, Aziraphale closed the distance and rested his cheek on Crowley’s shoulder. 

“Hello angel.” Crowley turned his head to nose at Aziraphale’s curls. “Alright?” 

“Yes.” He reached over and took Crowley’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “I’m…” he hesitated. “I’m a bit sad.” 

“Hm.” Crowley stayed as he was. “That’s alright.” 

Aziraphale relaxed. “Is it?” 

“Yes. It is.” Crowley allowed the declaration to hang in the air for a long, quiet moment before he started to move. “Come on, we should test out this bed. See how it is for sleeping.” 

They pulled back the blankets and settled against the sheets, Aziraphale squirming his way into Crowley’s arms. Wrapped up in each other and the comforter, Crowley snapped and the lights turned off. In the darkness, Aziraphale was calmed. He pressed a kiss to the hollow of Crowley’s throat and received a pleased hum in return. 

“I’d wait forever for you, Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered to him. “I’m not going anywhere as long as you want me.” 

He didn’t need to reply to that. Instead, he tucked his face against Crowley’s chest and listened to his heart beat steadily within it. 

**

_ The scene was becoming familiar to Crowley. Soft grass, an endless sky, and Aziraphale glowing softly, asleep. He approached as he had done nearly every time he had the dream, wings out. Crowley settled beside the sleeping angel and draped a protective wing over him.  _

_ “You are mine to protect,” he murmured, then rested quietly knowing not to expect a response.  _

**

Waking up beside Crowley was still a delight, one that soothed Aziraphale’s soul and let him pretend in the earliest hours of the day that everything was fine. Before dawn crept through the window he could lay beside the demon and watch him sleep, face slack and calm with it, lips parted ever-so-slightly. He wondered if he could get away with touching his cheek so he reached out and did it, admiring the fact Crowley liked to let a bit of stubble grow along his cheeks and jaw as if he were a human. 

It was rough beneath his fingertips and he shyly leaned forward to kiss the corner of Crowley’s mouth. His heart longed for him, to be reunited, but he knew slow was the best way. The safest way. There were only so many times he could stop Crowley in the middle of something because he was about to panic, or was having second thoughts. 

Crowley inhaled sharply and made a murmuring sound that was nothing but nonsense before he brushed their noses together. Then he stilled, clearly still asleep, and Aziraphale continued to trace idle patterns over his cheek. He teased his fingers up to Crowley’s hairline and then brushed them through the soft locks. 

_ “Just thinking about how your hair resembles a rooster right now, dear _ . _ ” _

He pulled his hand back, the spell of predawn pretending broken. Crowley remained undisturbed as Aziraphale slipped from the bed and dressed, making his way out to the newly formed kitchen. There was a kettle and cups and tea and he set about making a cuppa, the routine familiar and calming. 

He purposely didn’t make coffee. Baby steps. 

Crowley joined him in the kitchen a few hours later when the sun had risen. “Can I give you a kiss good morning?” He asked as he stepped around behind the chair Aziraphale was in, seated at the tall table in the dining nook. 

“Yes.” Aziraphale tilted his head and Crowley leaned in to give him a soft kiss. 

“Good morning,” he murmured, then stole another quick peck before he stepped away. “Does this place have a coffee maker?” 

Crowley made coffee and, despite Aziraphale’s gentle protests, Pillsbury cinnamon rolls out of a can that had somehow appeared in the fridge. They were tastier than Aziraphale wanted to admit as he ate them with a banana, eyes scanning a newspaper he’d miracled into the flat. 

“Anything interesting in the news?” Crowley asked, sprawled across the chair he occupied. He sipped his coffee out of a teacup with a floral design. 

“All is well. Or, as well as it is ever is with humans.” All was  _ normal _ , at least. No hailing King Adam, no apocalypse. Just criticism of national leaders and information on pending trade deals. 

“Hmm.” Crowley took another sip of coffee. 

“Would you like to go for a walk in the park today?” Aziraphale glanced up from his reading. 

“St. James? We’ll have to remember to bring peas. The ducks were none too pleased the last time we showed up empty handed.” 

“Of course. Wouldn’t want to upset them.” Aziraphale bumped a socked foot up against Crowley’s bare one beneath the table. 

Crowley snapped himself dressed when they were ready and they took a late morning walk through the park, stopping to feed the ducks. They quacked happily, swarming their feet until they started tossing the peas further away and into the water. Only one duck seemed unimpressed and waddled away, over to a suited individual on a bench nearby who passed him some rye bread. 

“Not supposed to do that,” Crowley grumbled. “It isn’t good for them.” 

“Take comfort in being the good parent. That over there is the enabling uncle.” 

Crowley snorted. “Sure, sure. At least the rest seem happy enough.” 

Aziraphale wound his arm through Crowley’s and led him toward one of the walking paths. 

“Want an ice cream, angel?” 

“No thank you.” Aziraphale offered him a gentle smile. “I’m content as I am.” 

“Oh.” There was a slight flush to Crowley’s cheeks. “Well.” 

They walked all the way back to the shop, the rest of the world bumbling on around them. It was calming in a way. With his arm in Crowley’s, Aziraphale could relax and let his senses expand. There was still fear in the air, a bit of anxiety here and there, but unlike the post-apocalyptic world those bad feelings weren’t overwhelming. They just were, and they mingled with happiness and joy and sadness and all the wonderful and hard emotions that existed. 

Sort of like it was inside of him, Aziraphale realized. The fear and anxiety seemed slightly less overwhelming than it once had. 

They arrived at the front door of the shop and Crowley pulled him to a gentle stop. “I should go check on my plants.” 

“Of course.” Aziraphale studied his face, looking nervously for any sign that he’d put Crowley off. There were none. He reached up and touched his cheek again, smiling when he realized the faint line of stubble was still there. “You should keep this, for a couple of days.” 

“Hm?” Crowley turned and kissed Aziraphale’s fingertips. 

“The stubble.” 

Crowley couldn’t hide his grin. “Oh yeah?” He rubbed his cheek against the palm of Aziraphale’s hand. “You like it?” 

“Perhaps.” Aziraphale blushed and then led Crowley down into a soft kiss. One turned into two, and two into three, just presses of lips and the occasional nip of teeth from Crowley. Aziraphale rubbed his cheek against Crowley’s jaw, enjoying the scrape of stubble on his skin. It was different, it was nice. 

“Well if it leads to more of that I’ll grow a whole beard,” Crowley teased, chasing Aziraphale’s lips to steal another kiss. 

“No need for that,” Aziraphale insisted. “Just the stubble is fine.” 

“For you? Of course.” Crowley’s smile was gentle and he leaned in again for another tender kiss. “Call me if you need anything tonight, alright?” 

“You don’t think you’ll be back?” Aziraphale wasn’t sure how to feel about that, a familiar panic rising up in his chest. 

“Do you want me to come back?”

It was hard to come up with an answer. Yes, of course he did, because he loved Crowley and wanted him close. No, he didn’t, because it was healthy for them to have space. The conflict must have been obvious because Crowley cupped his face in his hands and kissed his forehead. 

“How about this? I go tend to the things I need to tend to and then I’ll call you tonight. If you want me, I’ll come over. If you don’t, we’ll plan for breakfast.” 

Aziraphale nodded and pushed Crowley’s hands away, but only so he could press close and hug him. Crowley’s arms encircled him. “That sounds like a good plan,” Aziraphale mumbled. 

Crowley nuzzled against his hair. “Good. I’ll talk to you tonight, then.” 

They parted ways, Aziraphale choosing to linger on the step as Crowley got into the Bentley and drove off. He waited until there was no sign of him and only then turned and headed inside. He took a deep breath as the door clicked shut behind him, looking at the shelves of books, taking in the smell of old paper and leather. Crowley was a call away, and he had books to sort. 

Later that night after his phone conversation it was decided that Crowley didn’t need to come over and that they’d instead meet for breakfast. Aziraphale crawled into bed anyway, nosing into the pillow Crowley had used, inhaling deeply. It comforted him and he settled, eventually drifting to sleep, thinking about Crowley across the way settling into his own bed. 

_ He was back in the dark place, his form light, his eyes many. The stars were beautiful and clearer than they had been, but as he sat in the grass and peered over a cliff that seemed to lead to a vast nothingness, he wondered where Crowley was.  _

_ It was less distressing, this time. He didn’t call out. His mate was somewhere nearby, somewhere closer than he had been, and he’d find him. They’d find each other eventually. He closed his eyes and inhaled the crisp evening air, a breeze ruffling by.  _

I’ll find him _ , he thought.  _ I have to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Tuesday & Friday unless something convinces me to update early which, these days, isn't uncommon. 
> 
> Come follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/) if you want to talk Good Omens, life, writing, or whatever else. 
> 
> If you are struggling with anything, reach out. Whether it is to me, who can try to help direct you to resources, or to someone else you trust...reach out. People care.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to my dear friend Mark, who passed away as a result of brain cancer back in November.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lenore visits and they all go to a farmers market.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello loves. Thank you as always for your kindness and support! I have the best readers.

Crowley lingered by a booth selling soap while Aziraphale chatted animatedly with someone at a booth selling gluten free baked goods. Beside his angel was _ another _ angel, tall and gangly, with eyes that were on the side of unnerving and owlish, but having seen him in his heavenly form he thought the chap had done a rather good job concealing his looks. 

He stood passively by, listening as Aziraphale talked with the woman running the booth. Crowley poked at soap as he watched them from the corner of his eye. He’d been convinced by Aziraphale and Lenore to accompany them to a farmer’s market in a little village not far out of London. He’d been convinced mostly because the two angels needed to bum a ride off of him, but was grateful for the chance to keep an eye on Aziraphale. 

It had been nearly a month since Aziraphale returned from the Hellish journey he’d been on and while they’d managed a relatively comfortable routine, Crowley still experienced a certain level of worry whenever they were apart for too long. He wanted to protect Aziraphale, especially when the angel still flinched at certain sounds and shied away from some of his touches. 

Lenore seemed nice, if bookish and strange. Crowley thought he recognized him, remembered him, but Heaven had been so long ago and he was quite sure Lenore was not his given name. He seemed to calm Aziraphale almost as much as Crowley did, though thankfully with less touching. Crowley wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle someone else touching Aziraphale, not when he was still recovering. 

_ Not when he could still very well choose to leave you _, a traitorous voice in the back of his mind pointed out. He told the voice to fuck right off. 

“You seem to like that one,” the vendor whose booth he was loitering in front of said. Crowley looked at him and then looked down. He tapped the yellow-orange bar thoughtfully. 

“Do I?” 

“Well, you picked it up and smelled it about three minutes ago and you haven’t taken your hand off of it since.” 

“What’s the scent?” 

“It is citrus-y, mostly lemon, with hints of ginger.” 

Something about that struck Crowley, but he wasn’t sure why. He glanced back over at Aziraphale briefly and then looked at the vendor. “Sure, I’ll take two bars.” 

“It is two for ten, or three for twelve. Better deal to throw a third one in there.” 

“Fine.” Crowley passed over the money and took the paper bag with soap in it, shoving it into his jacket pocket. He hoped Aziraphale liked the soap. He finally strode over to where Aziraphale and Lenore were, Aziraphale paying for his own purchases. 

Lenore glanced at him with his too-big eyes. “Aziraphale is buying us gluten-free scones.” 

“Do you even know what that means?” Crowley asked. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale scolded. 

“What?” Crowley huffed and glowered at Lenore. “I was just asking. Not like he’s from around here.” 

Lenore broke his in half and offered some of it to Crowley. “Would you like some?” 

“Oh, you should try it. The baker was telling me everything that goes into making it taste just as good as the kind with gluten!” Aziraphale looked delighted and Crowley wished it was half of the angel’s scone he was eating, not Lenore’s. 

Regardless, he took a bite. Food never really did it for him, but it did taste like a pretty typical scone. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled with a full mouth, which earned him a harmless smack to his arm. 

They continued on, Crowley trailing behind Lenore and Aziraphale. 

“I think you’re going to love the bookshop when you see it,” Aziraphale said to Lenore. 

“I’m looking forward to it. You’ve told me so much about it.” 

“I’ve got a Shakespeare script I think you’ll like in particular. I repaired it years ago.” Aziraphale wiggled with excitement. 

“I’m still quite jealous you knew Shakespeare.” 

“Yes! And Crowley is the reason _ Hamlet _ took off.” The pride in Aziraphale’s voice melted a little bit of Crowley’s icy demeanor. 

“Is he? That’s quite remarkable.” 

The friendly chatter continued, Lenore and Aziraphale stopping at whatever booths caught their fancy. It was almost relaxing, despite all the people milling around. He stuck his hands in his pockets and felt the crinkle of the paper bag with the soap he’d purchased. It was the only thing that he felt compelled to buy, other than a bouquet of flowers for Aziraphale when the angel made pleading eyes at him. 

They had lunch in town at a new restaurant. Crowley sipped a pint slowly while Lenore and Aziraphale carried the conversation. It was enough, he thought. Enough that Aziraphale had asked him to come, let him stay, involved him. It was enough to get to be a part of his recovery.

On the way back to London, Aziraphale sat in the front and held Crowley’s hand as often as he could, Lenore sitting quietly in the back. When they arrived at the shop Aziraphale disappeared into the stacks to find the script he’d wanted to give to Lenore, leaving him and Crowley standing toward the front of the shop. 

“Crowley,” Lenore said softly, getting his attention. “Thank you for coming with us today.” 

“Of course. I wasn’t about to let either of you drive and I don’t think Heaven would approve of using miracles to transport yourselves about.” Crowley shrugged. 

“I meant more because it means something to Aziraphale.” 

That earned a look and Crowley glanced at Lenore. “What do you mean?” 

“I’m sure you’re no stranger to what he’s been through, or his struggles. I’m not really at liberty to share what he has shared with me but from what I know, time spent with you means the world to him.” 

“He can have that any time he wants,” Crowley pointed out. “I...I leave it up to him.” 

“I know. And I think that’s perhaps the thing he’s most grateful for, that you’re still there even when he may push you away.” 

Crowley grimaced. “Why did you bring this up?” 

“Because I care about him, and because I know he loves you dearly and he is still delicate. I will never entirely understand the trauma he’s been through, or what my part in his story really is, but…” Lenore paused and looked like he had to reconsider what he wanted to say. “You are perhaps the best equipped of anyone to help him, to care for him, and love him.” 

Aziraphale returned, a script and a few other books cradled in his arms. “I’ve found them!” 

“Them?” Lenore asked, not missing a beat. 

“Well yes, I found a few other volumes I think you ought to take back to Heaven, along with one for Rosie she might enjoy. It isn’t an _ old _ tome but it is a popular one and seems like it might be up her alley.” 

Lenore and Aziraphale devolved into book talk while Crowley sought out the couch in the back room and flopped onto it to take a nap. He woke up only when a hand rested gently on his cheek. 

“Angel.” He opened his eyes and found Aziraphale’s face above him, blue eyes brimming with fondness. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale answered, rubbing his thumb over Crowley’s cheekbone. 

“Did I miss Lenore?” 

“Yes, but I imagine you’ll see him again.” Aziraphale thoughtfully rubbed his fingers along Crowley’s jaw. He’d purposely kept the stubble up over the past month because Aziraphale seemed to like it. 

“Did you enjoy the day?” 

“Quite. Thank you for coming.” 

“Always.” He caught Aziraphale’s hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to his palm. “I bought something for you.” 

“Oh?” 

“Mmhm.” Crowley let go of his hand and shifted so he could yank his jacket off of the arm of the couch, digging in the pocket. He pulled out the bag of soap and offered it up to Aziraphale. 

“What’s this?” Aziraphale opened the bag, peeking inside. He pulled out one of the bars and pressed it to his nose, a strange look crossing his face. For a moment, Crowley thought he’d made a terrible mistake and was about to speak up and tell him he could toss it if it wasn’t his scent. 

Instead, the soap was carefully set aside while Aziraphale leaned in and kissed him warmly. Crowley’s apology died on his lips as he reached up to hold Aziraphale’s face and kiss back. To his surprise, the kiss was deepened as Aziraphale parted his lips and licked into Crowley’s mouth. Crowley groaned with it, tilting Aziraphale’s head ever-so-slightly to get a better angle. 

This was nice. This was _ good _. It was warm and wet and gentle. Aziraphale touched his face, rubbed his fingers against Crowley’s scruff, and then bit down gently on Crowley’s lower lip. Crowley let Aziraphale lead, enjoying the way he hummed into the kiss. They shared a few more passes of lips before Aziraphale pulled back, just shy of breathless, his cheeks flushed and his eyes vibrant. 

“So you like the soap.” Crowley grinned. 

“Oh, my darling, I do.” He anointed Crowley’s nose with the lightest kiss. “Will you stay with me tonight?” 

“Always, angel. Anytime.” Crowley carded a hand through Aziraphale’s hair and led him back into a chaste kiss. “I love you.” 

Aziraphale nuzzled their noses together. “And I love you.” 

That was enough, Crowley thought. 

Later that evening Aziraphale disappeared to take a shower with his new soap while Crowley cooked a simple meal. It was pasta with a canned sauce that Aziraphale had bought at the market, and as the sauce heated up in the pan the scent of garlic and herbs filled the room. He checked the pasta, deemed everything well on its way, and took a few sips of wine. 

Then he thought about Olive Garden. He considered miracling up some breadsticks but stuck with some ciabatta bread Aziraphale had _ also _ bought at the market. He preheated the oven, slathered the bread in butter, added some garlic, and set it in the oven to toast. 

Aziraphale appeared while Crowley plated the food and stepped up behind him, putting his arms around Crowley’s waist. He put his chin on his shoulder and Crowley could feel his damp curls against his jaw and neck. 

“That smells wonderful.” 

“Well, you did pick the sauce.” 

“Mm. Did you toast the ciabatta bread, too?” 

“Yeah, with butter and garlic. Nothing better than garlic bread, right?” 

Aziraphale stiffened behind him, his arms tightening reflexively around Crowley’s waist. 

“Angel?” Crowley stayed right where he was as Aziraphale tilted his head into his shoulder, forehead pressed there. 

“It is alright.” Aziraphale whispered. 

Crowley wanted to protest and insist it clearly _ wasn’t _, but was so out of his depth he remained silent. Maybe it was the wrong choice. Aziraphale’s arms pulled away and he listened to his retreating footsteps, worried the angel would leave. Instead, footsteps were followed by the sound of a chair being pulled out and Aziraphale presumably sitting at the table. 

Releasing a breath he’d been holding, Crowley turned and brought the plates to the table. He set them down. “Wine?” 

“Certainly.” 

Crowley retrieved two glasses of wine and sat across from Aziraphale, trying to read the unsure expression on his face. He wanted to touch him but wasn’t sure it was the right call so he kept his hands to himself. 

“Did I say something wrong?” 

“No, dear,” Aziraphale looked up at him and offered a weak smile. “Sometimes I’m reminded of things that occurred and it takes me off guard.” 

“The bread?” 

Aziraphale nodded. Crowley wanted to say that a lot of people made garlic bread, and it was a normal thing to eat with pasta, but those were out of a desire to defend himself. He didn’t need to defend himself against Aziraphale. He needed to let him share. 

“You can throw it out if you want,” Crowley offered, even though it broke his heart a little. 

“No, no. I quite like it.” Aziraphale reached out and rested his fingers over Crowley’s. “This whole meal is wonderful Crowley, thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

They ate, and the conversation switched to a reflection on the market and how Aziraphale wouldn’t mind going to more of them when the season permitted. He quite liked the homemade goods he could buy. It certainly beat miracling things, or making them himself. 

“There’s grocery stores,” Crowley pointed out. 

“I _ know _ that but it isn’t really the same, is it? I like talking to the person who made what I’m about to eat.” 

Crowley smiled fondly. “Of course you would.” 

Aziraphale shot him a playfully annoyed look. They did the dishes together, Aziraphale insisting he liked the tactile nature of doing it by hand instead of miracling them. Crowley agreed to it, if only because it meant he got to bump his shoulder against Aziraphale’s, and playfully flick water at him. 

They retired to the bedroom and changed into pajamas, crawling beneath the blankets. Aziraphale immediately pulled Crowley close and Crowley went willingly, nuzzling into the curve of Aziraphale’s neck. He inhaled and caught the scent of the soap he’d bought on Aziraphale’s skin, finding it rather pleasant. It made something possessive and hot curl in his gut and he pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s pulse. 

“Mm. Crowley.” Aziraphale shivered and wiggled closer, pushing one of his legs between Crowley’s to tangle them together. Taking it as a good sign, Crowley opened his mouth and pressed another wet kiss to Aziraphale’s pulse, then bit down gently. Aziraphale tilted his head back with a soft little sound and Crowley kissed his throat all the way down to the hollow of it. 

“You smell good,” Crowley murmured into his skin. 

“You bought very lovely soap.” Aziraphale’s throat vibrated beneath his mouth and he chased the sensation, sucking and kissing as he pleased. He’d not been given free access to Aziraphale’s neck like this. They’d hardly done anything more than make-out and exchange soft touches. 

Eventually Aziraphale’s hands guided their mouths together and Crowley was happy for it, fingers running through wet curls as Aziraphale’s mouth opened beneath his. He took advantage, tongue exploring, caught at one point in a cheeky little nip from Aziraphale whose tongue came immediately after to soothe it. He groaned, trying to ignore how right it felt for their bodies to be pressed together, so many points of contact lighting up as he realized he could very easily get carried away. 

He put the brakes on it, breaking the kiss and gazing into Aziraphale’s hazy blue eyes. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured with a lazy smile. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley replied, matching the smile. He leaned in and kissed him again, but he didn’t give in when Aziraphale chased his lips. Instead he turned his head and Aziraphale’s mouth landed on his cheek, then began to leave a warm trail down his jaw. 

“Are you okay with this?” Crowley asked and hated himself for it, if only because Aziraphale immediately stopped kissing him. 

“I...er. Are you?” 

“I asked you first angel.” Crowley sighed and turned so he could press their foreheads together. “I don’t want you to do anything because you feel like you have to.” 

There was a war in Aziraphale’s eyes and he knew he’d said the wrong thing. Aziraphale’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he seemed to resign himself to something. 

“Quite right.” He leaned in and gave Crowley a chaste kiss before he rolled onto his side so his back was to Crowley. 

“I’ve upset you.” 

“No. No, you’ve just...you’re _ right _.” Aziraphale sounded upset. “I keep wanting more, wanting to push, but I know I won’t be able to go through with it and I can’t imagine how obnoxious that must be.” 

“Angel.” Crowley sat up and then leaned over Aziraphale, dipping his head down to press a kiss beneath his ear. “No. We can go however far you want to, and then you can back out, and that’s fine.” 

“It isn’t.” Aziraphale’s eyes were shut tight. “It shouldn’t be like this.” 

“Shh.” Crowley brushed some hair back out of Aziraphale’s face and dropped a kiss to his temple. “We can take this at your pace.” 

“I’m so tired of being _ broken _.” Aziraphale spat and then curled in on himself as his shoulders trembled. 

“You’re not, angel. You’re not broken.” Crowley settled behind and curled around him, bringing him back against his chest. “You’re _ mine _, and I love you.” 

Crowley allowed Aziraphale to cry, occasionally running his hand through his hair or kissing his neck and shoulders. He trailed his lips over the edges of the gilded gold scar on Aziraphale’s shoulder and listened as his angel took a shaking but deep breath. 

_ That’s right, _ he thought. _ Relax. Breathe _. He carefully pushed the fabric of his pajama shirt aside and pressed a full kiss to the mark. In increments, Aziraphale began to relax and Crowley continued to kiss the scar and the skin around it, trying to push his love and a sense of calm into every touch. Soon enough, Aziraphale relaxed back against him with a hiccuping sigh. 

“Keep doing that,” Aziraphale whispered, voice rough. “Please.” 

Crowley did, continuing to press soft kisses along Aziraphale’s warm, ginger and citrus scented skin. It didn’t take long for Aziraphale’s breathing to even out or for his body to go slack. He was asleep, and Crowley yanked the blankets up over them both as he snuggled close. 

Whatever he had to do, he’d protect him. He’d love him. He’d be enough. 

Crowley soon followed Aziraphale into sleep.

_ There was a breeze, this time, which hadn’t been there before. The air had been so still the last time Crowley arrived in this strange place of eternal night. Beneath his feet the grass was cold and wet with dew, or perhaps fresh rain. He walked across it, casting about for the familiar glow of his angel. _

_ Aziraphale startled him. The angel sat wingless on the ledge of a cliff overlooking darkness, gazing out at where the sky met the dark horizon. He slowly approached and lowered himself to the ground beside him. _

_ “Aziraphale?” The angel didn’t look at him, didn’t appear to register his presence. It was the first time he’d been awake in any of these dreams and Crowley wasn’t sure what to make of it. His eyes flickered to the glowing mark on Aziraphale’s shoulder and then back to his face. _

_ Instead of saying anything more he opened his wings and draped one over Aziraphale’s shoulders, turning his gaze into the darkness. He’d wait. Aziraphale would be ready eventually. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Tuesday & Friday unless I'm convinced otherwise!
> 
> Come hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Art was commissioned by Val! You can find them on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Valerie_Sparkle)!!


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale revisits Tadfield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is up a little later today because I've been sick, took cold medicine around 1am, and slept hard until nearly 1pm. This cold is kicking my ass. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, commenting, liking, and coming to talk to me! We're so close to the end now. My last two chapters have finished going through my beta and we're both happy with the ending. Can't wait to share it.

It took two and a half months for Aziraphale to finally get the courage to go to Tadfield. 

“Do you think he’ll remember?” Crowley asked on the drive there. 

“I don’t know, honestly.” Aziraphale sighed and rested his head against the window. “Could go either way.” After all, Adam had eventually remembered what the world was supposed to be. It wouldn’t be a stretch to think he also remembered everything leading up to it. 

Crowley grasped his hand and said nothing more. The rest of the ride was accompanied by the sound of the Velvet Underground on the radio and Aziraphale found it surprisingly calming. 

When they pulled into Tadfield they attracted looks, but neither thought to really care. They pulled off in front of Jasmine Cottage and Aziraphale was not at all surprised to find Anathema standing on the step. He got out first, Crowley following suit. 

“I thought all of Agnes’ predictions ended with the apocalypse,” Aziraphale pointed out as he approached with a gentle smile. Anathema looked well. 

“I don’t need prophecies when I have a boyfriend who likes to walk. He saw the Bentley, filled me in. I thought you might be stopping by.” 

It brought him pause. Did she remember? He searched her face and decided she didn’t. This was the look of someone vaguely suspicious, not someone who had shared a trauma with him. Aziraphale tried not to think about being stabbed not far from where they’d parked, though it was difficult. 

“Adam around?” Crowley asked, saving him from having to form further words as his body considered whether it wanted to panic. 

“Why?” Anathema straightened her shoulders. “Thought he was done with all of that.” 

“We just need to talk to him, want to check in.” Crowley shrugged, standing close to Aziraphale. His hand rested on Aziraphale’s lower back and it was a comfort. 

“Is it ever that simple?” Anathema asked, arms crossed over her chest. “He’s just a kid. I don’t know that I want agents of Heaven and Hell bothering him and his friends.” 

“Former agents,” Crowley pointed out. “We don’t work for anyone anymore.” 

A strange look passed over Anathema’s face. “Oh. Didn’t realize you could get fired.” 

“Humans.” Crowley scoffed and gave Aziraphale a ‘can you believe this?’ look. 

“Do they still play in the woods?” Aziraphale asked, finding his voice. 

Anathema looked at him and her expression softened. It was one of the perks of being an angel, he supposed. “Yes. They still have their fort and everything.” 

“I promise you we’re just here to check in, to make sure everything is alright.” 

“Are you alright?” Anathema gave him a once over. “Your aura is off.” 

“Angels don’t have  _ auras _ ,” Aziraphale insisted. 

“They do, and yours is a bit anxious.” 

Crowley moved to take Aziraphale’s hand in his, fingers laced. Aziraphale exhaled slowly. 

“Nice to see you, professional descendant.” Crowley said with a nod. “We’ll be off now.” 

“You ought to come by for tea some time. I have a lot of questions.” Anathema looked between them, pretending to ignore their joined hands. 

“Ask a crystal ball.” With that, Crowley ushered Aziraphale back to the car and got in, driving them closer to Adam’s house. He parked on the side of the street and waited. Aziraphale knew he was waiting for him. 

“I was killed there.” 

“I know.” Crowley took off his sunglasses and searched Aziraphale’s face. “We can take a break.” 

“Best to get it done with. The sooner we can assuage my worries, the sooner we can get back to London.” And the bookshop. And Aziraphale’s bed, where Crowley will wrap around him and kiss his neck and jaw and make him feel safe. He let out a slow breath. 

Crowley leaned over and nuzzled his temple, pressing his lips to it in a soft kiss. “We’ll get gelato when we get back.” 

That sounded nice. Aziraphale turned his head to kiss Crowley before he bucked up and opened the door, stepping out. They made their way along a well tread path through the woods and Aziraphale tried not to think about everything that had happened there. 

He nearly discorporated when something jumped up on his leg. He stared down into the big brown eyes of Dog, once again little. The mutt whined and hopped, his tail wagging desperately. Crowley looked puzzled. 

“Didn’t realize dogs like you.” 

“All animals like me, I’m an angel.” Aziraphale was a bit petulant. Just because he didn’t like to get animal hair on his clothes didn’t mean animals didn’t like him. With a sigh he reached down and picked Dog up, submitting to a flurry of licks from the wiggling terrier. 

Crowley looked absolutely flabbergasted. 

“Dog!” Adam’s familiar voice called from a little further into the woods. “Here, boy!” 

Dog gave Aziraphale a few more nuzzling licks before he dropped down from his arms and took off through the woods, returning to his boy. Aziraphale followed. It wasn’t long until they came into the clearing with a familiar fort, Adam on his knees with Dog licking him now. 

“Intruders!” Brian called out from his perch in a nearby tree. He was wielding a stick. Some things never changed. 

“Actually, I think they’re grown-ups,” Wensleydale helpfully supplied, wielding a broom. 

“They’re still intruders,” Brian grumbled. 

Pepper sat on what appeared to be a newly installed tire swing, watching the proceedings. “Is the world ending again?” 

Adam shook his head. “No, Pepper. I don’t think it will again.” Finally, he looked up at Aziraphale and Crowley. His smile faltered. 

Aziraphale looked away. 

“Er, Brian keep watch. I’m going to take Dog on patrol and I think this one is going to help.” He pointed at Aziraphale and then looked at Crowley. “You should stay, help guard the fort.” 

Crowley tensed. “Now, I don’t think-” 

“Crowley, dear, it is fine,” Aziraphale assured him with a faint smile. Crowley looked skeptical but nodded. 

“Right. You,” he pointed at Brian. “I want a stick.”

“Well you’ve got to find one!”

“But I want  _ that _ one.” And just like that, Crowley was climbing up into the tree and Brian was laughing as he scrambled away, playfully brandishing the stick at Crowley. 

Aziraphale looked to Adam and nodded. They began to walk. 

“Pepper,” Adam said to some bushes. “No eavesdropping.” 

Pepper made a growling sound followed by the crunch of leaves and brush that indicated her departure. They were finally alone. Aziraphale didn’t feel at ease. 

“Something wrong?” Adam asked as they walked. “I didn’t think I’d see you two again so soon. Was it your sides? I told them to stop bothering you.” 

He didn’t remember. Aziraphale wasn’t sure to be relieved. Perhaps for Adam’s sake, he was. 

“No, no. Nothing like that. We just wanted to pop by, see how things were, make sure nothing was amiss.” 

“My mum says I wrinkle my nose when I lie. I think you wring your hands like you are now.” 

Perceptive boy. Aziraphale held his hands behind his back and nodded. “Perhaps. But what I came here for has been confirmed and I’m afraid there’s not much else.” 

“Something happened.” 

“Yes. And then it was fixed.” 

“Was it my fault?” Adam looked at him, just a boy who didn’t ask for any of this. 

“No, Adam.” Aziraphale kept himself from fidgeting. Adam still didn’t look entirely convinced. 

“But it is alright now?” 

“Everything is the way it should be, yes.” 

“Except you.” 

Aziraphale stopped walking and Adam followed suit. “I’ll be alright.” 

Adam frowned in thought. “When I’m having a bad time of it, mum makes me a peanut butter sandwich and uses cookie cutters to make star shapes. Then she sits and eats them with me and we talk about silly stuff. Maybe you should try it.” 

Aziraphale’s heart clenched and then released, the innocence on the boy’s face nearly too much. He couldn’t help but smile, a real one this time. “I think perhaps you’re right.” 

“Then that’s solved. Now you can help me really patrol.” 

“And what are we patrolling for?” 

“ _ Zombies _ ,” Adam said with an appropriate amount of weight given to the word. “C’mon.” 

When they finally returned to the fort it turned out the zombies were the least of their problems. Crowley had convinced Pepper to stage a coup (or perhaps Pepper had done the convincing). Brian’s stick was in Crowley’s hands while Crowley sat atop Brian who was giggling in the dirt. Pepper had her own stick and it was pointed at Wensleydale who had his hands up in surrender. 

“Halt!” Crowley called out as Aziraphale and Adam returned. “This camp has been taken, whose side are you on?” 

“Your side, I imagine,” Aziraphale said softly and watched as Crowley’s playful facade cracked for a moment, revealing a fond smile. 

“Our side, then,” Crowley agreed. 

“Aw man,” Brian complained from beneath him. “Then we give up! We’ll join your side!” 

Adam huffed. “Well, you are all on my side and I say we should go ask my mom if the biscuits she was making this morning are done.” 

There were cheers across the camp as Crowley gave up his position and the children gathered together. They said their goodbyes and disappeared through the woods, leaving Crowley and Aziraphale watching them. 

“What did he have to say?” Crowley’s arm snaked around Aziraphale’s waist, pulling him into his side. Aziraphale slid his hand into Crowley’s back pocket and turned to nuzzle his shoulder. 

“He doesn’t remember.” 

“Sorry, angel.” 

“I’m not.” Aziraphale shook his head. “I’m glad he doesn’t remember. He should get to live as normal a life as he can from here on out.” 

Crowley buried his nose in Aziraphale’s hair. Aziraphale could feel his breath against his scalp. 

“I have an idea, if you’ll indulge me?” Aziraphale murmured as Crowley turned them and started walking back toward the car. 

“I’ll always indulge you.” 

“Would you go out with me tonight?” Aziraphale glanced up and caught the corner of Crowley’s eye peeking out from beneath his sunglasses. 

“Always. Dinner?” 

“Mm. I have another idea but you’ll have to trust me.” 

“I already do.” 

They made the drive back to London and Aziraphale chased Crowley away from the bookshop with instructions to return after dark. Crowley obeyed, but only left after coaxing Aziraphale into a few soft kisses against one of the bookshelves.

“More tonight,” Aziraphale promised. 

“Looking forward to it, angel.” Crowley kissed him once more and left. 

Aziraphale spent time preparing a picnic basket, including meats and cheeses he purchased from a deli down the street from the shop. A bottle of wine was added to the basket, along with plastic glasses (he shuddered, but it was practical) and some sweets. He booted up his ancient PC and found directions to where he wanted to go on Mapquest. His printer groaned to life, not because it actually functioned anymore - Aziraphale hadn’t purchased ink since he first bought the printer - but because Aziraphale  _ believed _ it would function. 

He set the directions on top of the basket with a pleased noise, then made a few phone calls. 

When Crowley returned after dark he greeted the demon with a kiss. Crowley smiled into it. “Where are we going angel?” 

“I have directions, if you’re willing to drive.” Aziraphale smiled back. 

Crowley hummed thoughtfully as he brushed a few kisses along Aziraphale’s jaw, nuzzling as he went. “Of course.” 

Crowley helped him pack up the Bentley with his bundles, giving him curious looks. He recognized Crowley’s restraint when he was handed the printed Mapquest directions. 

“I know, just indulge me would you?” 

“Sure. But I’m buying you a smartphone whether you like it or not.” 

“Whatever pleases you my dear.” 

They drove. If Crowley was confused about the direction he didn’t mention it, driving through winding roads toward the coast. Aziraphale had chosen the South Downs as their picnicking place, the sky large and clear the further they got from the city. 

“Here?” Crowley asked as he pulled over into a small parking lot. It was otherwise deserted. They wouldn’t be bothered. 

“Just so,” Aziraphale answered. They parked and he gathered up the supplies, leading Crowley out onto a dark field near the coastal cliffs. He laid out the blanket and set the basket at one corner before he turned to Crowley. 

The demon’s eyes were on the sky, wide and uncovered, his lips parted in awe. Aziraphale swore the shadows created the shape of Crowley’s wings behind him and his eyes turned to molten gold in the starlight. He was beautiful. Handsome. He cut a sharp silhouette against the night and Aziraphale was overwhelmed with his love for him. 

Nothing could touch them out there, among the stars and the sea. He closed the distance to take Crowley’s hand and led him over to the blanket. Before he could sit, Crowley kept hold of his hand and pulled him close, leaning in to touch their foreheads together. 

“You made us a picnic.” 

“Yes. And rented a nearby cottage to retire to once we’re done here.” 

“Oh?” Crowley smiled and pressed his nose to Aziraphale’s cheek in a nuzzle. “Just for tonight?” 

“Turns out the cottage is available exactly however long we feel we might like it to be.” 

“Adventurous of you. What will your books think?” 

“They’ve survived this long, they’ll survive a night or two alone.” 

“You assume I don’t plan to keep you here forever.” 

Aziraphale huffed and kissed him, hands coming to rest on his shoulders. “I’d give them up for that.” 

“Come now, let’s not take it that far.” 

Giggling, which was such a nice thing to do Aziraphale thought, he buried his face in Crowley’s shoulder and accepted a warm embrace. 

They sat down eventually, Aziraphale starting with the meats, cheeses, and crackers along with healthy glasses of wine for each of them. Aziraphale snacked, Crowley joked, and the waves crashed against the cliffside. It seemed so right to be there with Crowley, the heavens above them and the sea below. 

Almost like they had been there before. Aziraphale furrowed his brow and Crowley noticed. 

“Alright, angel?” 

“Quite. Just having a keen sense of deja vu, is all.” 

“Well, live for over six thousands years and that’s not really a surprise.” 

“You’re right.” He shook off the strange feeling and returned to his merriment. 

As the wine bottle emptied and their snacks disappeared, Aziraphale tucked the remnants away and pulled out a different plate. He unwrapped it, setting it between he and Crowley. 

“Peanut butter sandwiches?” Crowley asked, incredulous. “Cut into star shapes.” 

“Let’s just say I received some potentially sage advice from an eleven year old boy today and I thought I might try it out.” 

Crowley’s look of disbelief softened as he met Aziraphale’s gaze. “Well, have at it then.” 

They tried the sandwiches and while the taste was off, there  _ was _ something comforting in the laughter they shared, and the peanut butter flavored kisses they exchanged. It wasn’t the Ritz, or even as good as the nibbles they’d had earlier, but Aziraphale thought he was beginning to understand Adam’s unstated point: it was more about the person than the meal. 

Once the sandwiches were gone, Aziraphale sprawled on his back on the blanket. Crowley joined him, their fingers entwined, joined hands resting on the blanket between them. If Aziraphale tilted his head he could brush his nose to Crowley’s temple, so he did, straining just enough to kiss it. 

“Tell me about the stars,” Aziraphale murmured, settling so their shoulders touched. 

“Is that why you brought me out here? To ply me with wine and get me to tell all my design secrets?” 

“Precisely. I’ve been after those secrets for centuries.” Aziraphale snorted. “I like hearing you talk about them.” And he remembered Lenore mentioning Rosie taking him to see the rings around Saturn form, wondering what it would have been like to have been with Crowley all the way back then. 

“Ursa major and minor were mine,” Crowley began. “Not sure how the humans determined they were  _ bears _ but that’s humans for you. I originally thought they’d be more of a hoop than a ladle, and every century or so a comet would fly through the basket. That didn’t go over well with management.” 

Crowley continued, sharing stories about the stars. There had been a huge design team, he’d only been a small part of it. Designing had been great, but he’d had a chance to hang some of the stars, to come together to create their very hearts. He liked Eden well enough, enjoyed listening to Adam and Eve name all the animals, but there was something about touching the core components of stars that still enthralled him. 

Aziraphale loved listening to the passion in his voice and settled closer, releasing Crowley’s hand to roll onto his side and snuggle in. He pressed his head to his chest, enjoying the soft vibrations as Crowley continued to tell him about the stars, his hand carding through Aziraphale’s hair. 

He was at ease, for the first time in what seemed like ages. There was nothing except the sky, the grass, the waves, and Crowley. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates Tuesdays & Fridays unless I'm convinced otherwise. 
> 
> You can come hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and 


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley enjoy a cottage getaway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy some soft fluff. I've had a rough go of it the past day or so - if only real life were as soft as fanfiction!
> 
> Thanks as always to everyone who comments, compliments, or otherwise reaches out. I'm grateful for the little community that has sprung up from this fic.

Aziraphale was nudged awake a few hours later as the first tendrils of dawn stretched across the sky. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but he was pressed into Crowley’s side and a blanket had been conjured and draped over them both. 

“You mentioned a cottage,” Crowley said as he ran his hand through Aziraphale’s hair. 

“Mmhm.” He cleared his throat but didn’t move except to press his slightly chilled nose into Crowley’s shirt. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep.” 

“S’okay. You were relaxed.” 

“You should talk to me about the stars more often.” 

“To put you to sleep?” There was an amused note in Crowley’s voice. “I’ll try to come up with some different topics next time to see which bores you the most.” 

That made Aziraphale sit up. He leaned over Crowley, a hand resting beside Crowley’s head. “I wasn’t bored.” 

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale as if he were the sun. “Oh?” 

“I like listening to you.” Aziraphale huffed and dipped down for a kiss. “I like your voice.” 

There was a dusting of pink high on Crowley’s cheeks. “Well. Maybe next time I’ll read to you.” 

“I’d like that.” Aziraphale smiled. 

They packed up their picnic and made their way back to the Bentley, blasting the heat on high as Crowley glanced over the directions to the cottage. It was a short drive, not even fifteen minutes before they pulled up into a simple driveway in front of a cozy, but equally simple cottage. 

Aziraphale got the key out of the lockbox and let them in, the cottage coming to life. The heat kicked on without either of them touching a thing. The cottage knew better than to trust an angel or a demon to figure out its workings. Lights flicked on as well, following the two as they made a line for the bedroom. 

Crowley gentled him once the door was shut, drawing him into a kiss. 

“Would you like to rest, my love?” Aziraphale stayed close, their mouths a hair’s breadth away. 

“Yes, for at least a little while. We should take advantage of this bed, anyway.” 

Aziraphale grinned a little. “I agree.” 

Crowley reverently began to undress him, dropping kisses on his face and down his neck. His hands were warm as they ran down Aziraphale’s arms, or touched the revealed skin of his chest when he got down to it. Each article was politely folded and set atop the dresser. He was divested of his trousers and socks last, wiggling his toes against the soft rug covering a hardwood floor. 

He repaid the favor, walking behind Crowley to slide the leather jacket off of his shoulders. It was hung in the closet. He returned to Crowley who watched him in the dim lamplight that had turned on all on its own, a small smile on his lips. When Aziraphale stood in front of him again he reached up and undid the buttons of his shirt one by one. 

When his hands began to shake Crowley took them in his own and brought them to his mouth. He kissed the palms, fingers, and then the insides of his wrists until he shook no more. Aziraphale finished unbuttoning the shirt and pulled it off, folding it and putting it beside his own clothes, mixing black with cream and brown. He brought his palms down along Crowley’s chest and relished in the way the demon shivered and pressed into the touch, pupils blown and beautiful. 

His trousers were shed too, along with his socks. Aziraphale noticed the patches of scales on his feet and smiled. His snake. His serpent of Eden. 

Just like that they stood mostly bare except for their underwear, gazing at each other lovingly. Crowley was the first to move, snapping pajamas into existence. He moved to collect them from the bed when Aziraphale stopped him with a hand loose around his wrist. 

“Angel?” 

“Could we stay like this?” Aziraphale asked, his face hot. He wanted Crowley’s skin, wanted Crowley to want his in return. Crowley’s gaze trailed over Aziraphale’s almost naked form and he wondered for a moment if he liked what he saw. When their eyes met Crowley smiled and stepped closer to him, his hands resting on Aziraphale’s hips, thumbs rubbing. 

“Yes.” Crowley bent down and pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s mark. It made him tingle and he shivered with it. “But only if you tell me why.” 

“Terrible. You know why.” 

“Do I?” Crowley gave him an innocent look. “Maybe I like hearing you say it.” 

“I like the way your skin feels pressed against mine. I feel…” Aziraphale searched for the word, his hands coming to rest on Crowley’s chest. “Secure. Kept.”  _ Claimed _ . His face fell as the last word entered his mind. 

Crowley kissed his forehead and set his hands over Aziraphale’s, holding them there. “I’ll keep you however long you’d like, in whatever way you’d like, my love.” 

Oh, he loved it when Crowley called him that. 

“Bed then, perhaps, before we get cold.” 

“Wouldn’t want my angel to get cold,” Crowley teased, leading Aziraphale to the bed. He turned down the blankets and they both clambored in, rearranging themselves until they were on their sides. Their chests touched, legs tangled so their hips slotted together. Aziraphale appreciated the rise and fall of Crowley’s belly against his own as they breathed. 

Aziraphale ran one of his hands up and down Crowley’s back, enjoying the subtle shifts of his muscles and the knobs of his spine. He traced Crowley’s ribs and watched as his eyes hooded, trained on Aziraphale but clearly contented by the touches. So Aziraphale gave him more, leaned in to press a kiss to his collarbone as his fingers traced his spine and then his palm ground into Crowley’s lower back. Crowley canted his hips forward in response, humming. 

Aziraphale kissed up to Crowley’s lips and they exchanged real kisses then, Crowley pausing only to rub his scruffy cheek against Aziraphale’s cheek. “You’re like a cat,” Aziraphale murmured. 

Crowley tried to purr, but they both dissolved into laughter as his attempt faltered. Aziraphale laid his hand flat against Crowley’s back and kissed the smile on his face. Emboldened by their shared joy, Aziraphale skirted lightly along the curve of Crowley’s arse through his boxers, shifting to tease his fingers against the fuzzy backs of his thighs. 

He felt Crowley shiver against him and push closer, a puff of breath against his jaw. 

“Is this alright?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Angel, you can touch me wherever and however you want.” Crowley kissed his cheek. “I’m yours.” 

_ His _ . There was a swell of difficult-to-name emotions that came at that and he tilted his head to nuzzle their noses together. He gripped the back of Crowley’s thigh and hitched his leg up over his hip, running his fingers along the inside of his knee and then kneading down his calf. Then Crowley’s leg slipped around enough that he used it to pull their hips flush together. 

“If you want to give me a massage you could do it properly,” Crowley murmured, nosing under Aziraphale’s jaw to press kisses to his neck. “I  _ was _ lying on the ground an awfully long time.” 

“How about this. I offer you a massage and wing grooming as a thank you?” 

“Wing grooming?” Crowley looked at him, surprised. “You would?” 

Aziraphale let go of the hold he had on Crowley’s leg to reach up and cup his face. “Of course.”

“I can’t turn down an offer like that.” Crowley smiled and kissed him, then turned his head to kiss his palm. “I can return the favor.” 

“Perhaps.” Aziraphale didn’t mind the thought, even though he knew the act would be wrought with memories. They’d table it. He kissed Crowley and then shifted back, letting Crowley roll onto his stomach. A moment later the air crackled and his wings were spread across the bed. 

Aziraphale admired them, sitting on the edge of the bed. He reached out and dragged his fingertips over the ends of the feathers. It was lovely, having Crowley like this, laid out and trusting. He loved him. 

Crowley caught his eye. “Alright?” 

“Yes, my love.” He smiled and shifted to straddle Crowley’s hips. “Absolutely lovely. You’re lovely.” 

“Hush.” Crowley turned his face into the pillow, grumbling about the compliment. Aziraphale in the meantime miracled up some warm oil. He dipped his fingers into it and then dragged them up along the sides of Crowley’s spine, watching the way it made his skin shine. Then he switched to knuckles, kneading, and Crowley groaned. 

“That’s not grooming,” he mumbled. 

“Are you complaining?” 

“Hell no.” 

Aziraphale chuckled and kneaded all the way down to Crowley’s lower back, adding a bit more oil before he pushed out along the muscles. He followed the lines to points of tension, kneading fingers into knots and then pressing to get them to release. Aziraphale paid attention to Crowley’s movements and his sounds, pressing more with every pleased gasp and easing when Crowley flinched. 

He made his way up to Crowley’s shoulder blades and around where his wings joined his back. The muscles there were typically tense, especially given how little they used their wings. He applied ample oil to smooth the way and Crowley hummed, a deep rumbling thing that could have been a purr. Aziraphale dug his thumbs in, enjoying how warm Crowley was, how with every touch he relaxed a little more. 

Finally he touched his wings and admired the way Crowley shuddered beneath his touch. He worked his fingers through covets and down the longer feathers, sorting and straightening, and ruffling feathers loose. One spot he touched made Crowley twitch into it so he scratched, using his nails to get at an itch as Crowley huffed in relief. 

“That spot has been bothering me for ages.” 

“Well my dear, this is now available anytime you need it.” Aziraphale finished scratching and continued his grooming. He eventually switched to preening oil, giving Crowley’s beautiful wings a gentle shine. When he was pleased with his work he sat back and realized quickly from soft snores that Crowley was asleep. 

He leaned down and pressed a kiss between Crowley’s shoulder blades before slipping out of bed. Disposing of the oil, he washed his hands and then returned, crawling carefully beneath one of Crowley’s outstretched wings. The feathers were soft against his bare skin, as warm as a blanket, and he cherished the sensations. He settled on his side beneath it so he could watch Crowley sleep, admiring him. 

The scruff along his jaw was darker and he knew he’d shave it back down soon. His face was slack, except for the slightest curve of a smile. Hopefully he was having sweet dreams. As Aziraphale watched he opened up his senses, listening, smelling, sensing. There was a comforting warmth that radiated off of the demon and the calming scent of ginger, citrus, and incense. 

He also smelled a bit like Aziraphale’s shampoo which pleased him. All the little marks that Crowley was _ his _ soothed the possessive and nervous beast in his chest. If he closed his eyes he could sense the shimmering darkness of Crowley’s true form, could press his light gently to Crowley’s blurred edges and experience soft crackles of electricity as their essences touched. 

“Zira.” Crowley mumbled it, half asleep but aware now that the grooming had stopped. He tucked his far wing against his back so he could shift onto his side without moving the wing draped over Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale went willingly into his arms when the offer was made, pressing his forehead to Crowley’s shoulder. “Sleep.” 

“Mm. Only if you sleep.” 

“It is dawn, my dear.” 

“Kept me up all night,” Crowley grumbled. “Sleep with me.” 

Aziraphale laughed and kissed the skin beneath his lips. “Alright. I’ll sleep.” 

“Love you.” 

“And I you, Crowley.” 

Aziraphale rested. He allowed his mind to drift in a half-awake state, thoughts coming and going without any filter, vaguely aware of Crowley at all times. He was comfortable, warm, and if the mood took him, could reach out and lazily stroke Crowley’s feathers. 

All was well. He smiled.

Healing, Aziraphale learned, came in the form of a river. Sometimes, if he could catch the right current, he would be fine for weeks at a time. He could drift, return to his regularly scheduled avoidance of customers, and continue to build his relationship with Crowley. Other times the undercurrent caught him, sucked him down into a spiral that left him panting as unwanted memories choked him. 

Sometimes Crowley was there to help drag him out of the current. Sometimes he wasn’t and Aziraphale had to do it on his own. It was all part of the process, Lenore insisted, during one of their visits. Trauma had a place and it needed to be acknowledged, but it didn’t need to rule his life. 

So Aziraphale always picked himself up and soldiered on, not quite sure what any of it was leading to. The lack of direction bothered him the most, sensing that he would never be quite  _ right _ again, and wasn’t sure what to do with that knowledge. 

“Something is bothering you,” Crowley rightly noticed one night as they lounged on the bed. Crowley was wrapped up in Aziraphale’s arms, cheek against his collarbone while Aziraphale tried to focus on the book in his hands. 

“Yes.” There was no use in lying about it. Crowley had become adept at recognizing his shifts in mood and didn’t often let him get away with hiding it. 

“Do you want to share?” 

That was the other thing Crowley often offered him: a chance to say no. He could beg off, say he wasn’t ready, and Crowley would respect it. The very fact that they needed rules like that made Aziraphale wonderful if he’d ever be unbroken. If he’d ever completely heal. 

“What if I’m never the same again?” Aziraphale asked. He wasn’t sure he wanted the answer. Crowley was quiet against his chest for a while. 

“I don’t think you ever will be,” he finally replied. “And that’s okay.” 

They’d had a similar conversation before, but it was worth hearing again. Aziraphale set his book aside and Crowley sat up to look at him. 

“You went through something terrible, Aziraphale. I don’t think it is ever about returning to what you were. I think it is about finding meaning in what you experienced it and moving forward with that.” He reached out and touched Aziraphale’s cheek, offering him a half-smile. “We can’t live this long without being shaped by our experiences.” 

“I don’t know that I like the change.” 

“Yeah, well, I don’t think you ever have really. But maybe, just this one time, you ought to accept that change is inevitable, even for us.” 

“When did you become so wise, my darling?” 

Crowley scoffed, then shrugged. “Life experience.” 

Hell, Aziraphale imagined, and Falling probably helped his wisdom along. He leaned in for a kiss, happy when Crowley indulged him. 

“You might not see it,” Crowley murmured against his mouth, “but you’re doing better than you were.” 

Aziraphale chose to believe him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Tuesday & Friday!
> 
> Come hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/).


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is time for a little bit of change, and a lot of settling down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew...we're so close to the end you guys. This is sort of the Final Big Chapter, and I hope it is as satisfying for you all to read as it was for me to write. 
> 
> More notes at the end. For now, enjoy - and thank you for continuing to read and support this endeavor!

“Angel!” It had been roughly six months since Aziraphale’s experience in Hell and he still never grew tired of the joy that rang out in Crowley’s voice whenever he came into the shop. 

“Back here, my dear.” Aziraphale had received some books from a fellow collector’s estate after he passed and needed to sort through them. The shop had been closed as a result. 

A few moments later Crowley appeared in the doorway, wearing his favorite leather jacket, a slate gray button up, and his trademark black skinny jeans. He had a grin on his face. 

“I have something for you.” 

“Oh do you?” Aziraphale set down an old copy of  _ Pride & Prejudice _ and walked over to Crowley who met him halfway. 

Crowley thrust an envelope at him. Aziraphale looked at it curiously and plucked it from his hand. On the front, in Crowley’s scrawl, was his name. 

“Is there a holiday or something I’ve missed?” He wasn’t sure how else to explain Crowley’s exuberance. 

“No just. Would you open it? Please?” 

“Alright, alright.” With a huffed laugh Aziraphale opened the envelope and was puzzled to find there was no card. Instead, he turned it over and onto his hand fell a key. He looked up at Crowley in question. 

“I got us something.” 

“I can see that. What’s this a key to?” 

Crowley hesitated. “A cottage.” 

“Oh?” Aziraphale’s eyebrows rose. 

“I bought a cottage. For us. For you.” 

“Oh?” His heart lurched. He thought about the few days they’d spent at the cottage in South Downs and was suddenly quite warm with affection. “Crowley…” 

“It isn’t the one we stayed in. I actually tried for that one, you know. Thought the owners might be convinced but they were not interested in being tempted. I found another instead, still down in that area, just a little further away.” Crowley fidgeted. “Obviously I don’t think we should sell our respective places or anything. This is just...I thought it would be good to have a place for just -” 

Aziraphale shut him up with a kiss and then for good measure, another one. Crowley made a surprised noise before he melted into it, hands going to Aziraphale’s shoulders. When Aziraphale pulled his mouth back Crowley let out a happy little sigh. 

“Does that mean you like it?” He asked, leaning forward to steal another kiss. 

“Yes, Crowley. It means I like it and that I love you dearly.” 

Crowley beamed and kissed him again, thoroughly distracting him from his sorting and from the key in his hand which made it safely into a pocket before he was pinned to a bookcase and kissed senseless. 

“Is it furnished?” Aziraphale asked later, Crowley’s head on his lap as Aziraphale continued to paw through the box of books he’d received. 

“Nah. Thought we’d like to do that ourselves anyway.” 

He was right. The thought of creating a home together with Crowley was an exciting prospect and his mind swam with ideas. “It’ll be better that way I think. You have to promise me, though, you’ll let me choose comfortable furniture.” 

Crowley rolled his eyes. “You have no taste.” 

“You have no concept of comfort.” 

“I don’t know, you’re pretty comfortable.” Crowley smirked. 

“Devilish serpent.” Aziraphale ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “I suppose some shopping is in our future, then?” 

“If we want to do it the human way, yes.” 

“Fair enough.” Aziraphale smiled. “When can we go see it?” 

“Whenever you’d like.” 

“Tomorrow, then.” 

“Tomorrow?” Crowley glanced up at him and Aziraphale nodded. 

“I want to make a home with you, my love.” The words were almost too tender, a bit too vulnerable and Aziraphale braced for a negative reaction. 

“Good,” Crowley replied as he pulled one of Aziraphale’s hands to his chest. “Because I want to make one with you, too.” 

They made their home together, though it wasn’t without argument. Aziraphale made deals, Crowley fussed about unfashionable furniture, and they had to compromise on some things, but they made it happen. 

One of the extra rooms was turned into a mini library that Aziraphale stocked with his favorite books and a few of Crowley’s comics. There was a desk and a couple arm chairs, along with a window seat. Another room was made into a proper guest room, one that Crowley questioned the existence of. 

“What guests are going to be coming over to stay?” 

“Perhaps Anathema and her young man might like to visit.” 

“Angel.” Crowley shook his head. “What, once in a blue moon?” 

“Lenore might like to stay the night on Earth sometime, or we may have neighbors who’d like to stay over, or we might make friends.” 

“Fine, fine. Point taken.” 

The living room was a place of comfort, despite Crowley bringing his ostentatious throne along and sprawling over it whenever he got a chance just to show Aziraphale that it was comfortable. They had a television, though Aziraphale didn’t watch it much, a lovely fireplace, a large sofa, and an armchair. 

The kitchen was a kitchen, with a dining nook off of it. No formal dining room, but that suited them just fine. 

In the garden, Crowley had laid out space for a shed and a small greenhouse. Aziraphale enjoyed admiring him from the back patio as he wandered around the lush greenery that had been placed in the greenhouse. They invested in patio furniture and a fire pit, the back just as good a place to entertain as anywhere inside. 

Finally, the bedroom was something they worked on together. Crowley insisted on a comfortable bed and soft sheets but allowed Aziraphale to choose the colors, landing on a dark blue tartan comforter with gray sheets. On instinct, Aziraphale stuffed a few of their feathers taken from groomings around the room, a single feather from each of them placed in a thin vase and set upon the small table they kept in a corner. 

Crowley walked up behind him and put an arm around his waist, kissing at his neck. “Looks good, angel,” he whispered. They’d only just finished the bedroom and had moved some of their personal effects into their home. The cottage was ready to live in and Aziraphale looked forward to it. 

He also looked forward to presenting Crowley with the contents of the small box in his pocket. It was a very human thing, a ring, but he liked the symbolism of it. A claim in its own right. 

“I agree,” Aziraphale turned and pressed a kiss to Crowley’s cheek. “I actually had something to ask you.” 

“Oh?” Crowley nuzzled Aziraphale’s cheek in return. “Ask away.” 

Aziraphale pulled out of Crowley’s grasp and took in the puzzled knit of his brow. He plucked the box from its place in his pocket and lowered himself down onto one knee. 

“Angel.” 

“Crowley.” Aziraphale smiled as he took Crowley’s left hand in one of his own. “You’ve been my friend for over six thousand years. We’ve watched humanity from the very beginning, saved it somehow, and now we get to keep watching the world go by. I’d rather we do that together, as often as we can, and as such I wanted to ask if you would consider being my husband.” 

“We’re not human,” Crowley pointed out even as tears came to his eyes. “We c-can’t, not really, I mean…” 

“But would you like to?” Aziraphale flicked the box open with one hand, showing off the band. It was tungsten, a dark metal with runes engraved in it. Lenore had helped him figure out the runes he wanted, poring through old books and records. Runes of protection, of commitment, of love. 

“Idiot,” Crowley mumbled. “Of  _ course _ the answer is yes.” Tears fell freely then, sliding down his cheeks and dripping to the rug beneath them. Crowley dropped onto his knees in front of Aziraphale and grabbed his face. “A thousand times yes.” 

They kissed. As their lips brushed together time and again, Aziraphale blindly reached for Crowley’s left hand and slid the ring onto his finger. The box was forgotten as Aziraphale deepened the kiss then, fingers threading through Crowley’s hair as his demon yielded to him, let him lick into his mouth and taste him. 

“I want you, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered breathlessly. He searched Crowley’s eyes and found uncertainty. 

“I don’t want to push you Aziraphale.” 

“There’s no pushing.” Aziraphale shook his head and then kissed the corner of his mouth. “I  _ want _ you.” 

“We can go at your pace,” Crowley insisted, running his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair. “We stop anytime you want to stop.” 

Aziraphale kissed him to quiet him and then stood, pulling Crowley to his feet and toward the bed. He’d be lying if he pretended he wasn’t nervous, that he wasn’t worried he’d somehow end up ruining this thing between them. But it had been so long and Crowley had been so patient, waiting for him to be okay, waiting for him to be ready. 

He wasn’t sure he’d ever be more ready than he was then, with Crowley wearing a ring of Aziraphale’s making. 

Their kisses were slow and measured. Easy. With each one of them the tension of messing up eased out of Aziraphale as he ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair and down the back of his neck. Eventually their mouths parted and Aziraphale explored the scruffy line of Crowley’s jaw and then the soft skin of his neck, biting gently at his pulse. 

“Mm, angel.” Crowley tilted his head back and Aziraphale pressed a kiss where he’d just bitten before he sucked a mark into the skin. His lips traced down then to the hollow of Crowley’s throat as he began to unbutton his shirt. Crowley let him, his hands resting solidly on Aziraphale’s shoulders, reminding him he wasn’t going anywhere. 

“You wore an undershirt,” Aziraphale groused as he got the buttons undone and shoved the shirt off Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley snorted. 

“Says the angel in a million layers.” 

“Hmm.” Aziraphale yanked Crowley’s shirt up and over his head, dropping it to the floor. He was flushed from cheeks to chest and Aziraphale smiled as he kissed along his collarbone. 

Crowley’s hand found Aziraphale’s chin and guided him back up into a kiss so he could start working on his layers. He managed to get Aziraphale down to his undershirt before Aziraphale got frustrated enough to grab Crowley’s hands, tug him close, and kiss him. Then he shoved him hard enough to make him fall back onto the bed with a surprised yelp. 

“Angel!” Crowley laughed. “You’re an arse!” Then he settled back on his elbows and grinned, spreading his legs. 

“You seem just fine.” Aziraphale pointed out, shamelessly taking in the line of Crowley’s waist down to his hips, not missing the way the band of his boxers stuck out from beneath his low cut jeans. He also didn’t miss the half-interested bulge that was impossible to hide in pants that tight, desire curling in his gut. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley breathed, the smug look melting into something far more affectionate. “Take your shirt off for me, please?” 

With a sharp inhale Aziraphale nodded and hurried to take his shirt off, letting it join the pile of their clothes on the floor. 

“Now come here.” Crowley opened his arms and Aziraphale crawled onto the bed in between his demon’s long legs. He rested one hand on his thigh as he leaned into his arms and stole another kiss, Crowley pulling him into an embrace. 

They fell backward onto the bed, Aziraphale on top and Crowley beneath him, pliant and beautiful. Aziraphale rolled their clothed hips together and didn’t miss the way Crowley’s breath hitched, the surprise and pleasure he poured right back into the kiss. 

“I love you,” Aziraphale whispered. “I love you so much Crowley.” 

“I love you too angel.” Crowley kissed him again and again as they enjoyed each other’s warmth and closeness, hips rolling together languidly and without hurry. There wasn’t desperation here, no time limit. It wasn’t Aziraphale trying to steal affection where he could get it. There was no expiration date on their relationship. It was just him and Crowley, in their cottage, together. In love. 

“Shh,” Crowley soothed as he wiped tears from Aziraphale’s cheeks, pressing their foreheads together. “Okay?” 

“I’m just very glad to be with you, my love.” 

Crowley’s smile was brighter than any star. “I’m glad you’re here with me.” 

“What would you like?” Aziraphale asked, gazing into Crowley’s golden eyes. 

“I’d like it if you made love to me,” Crowley replied. “And I know how stupid that sounds but Aziraphale, you’re the only being in this universe I want that from.” 

“A demon wanting an angel to make love to him, hm?” Aziraphale’s vision blurred with renewed tears, overwhelmed with affection. “I would be happy to indulge you.” 

“Yes, let it be a temptation hm?” Crowley wrapped a leg around his hips and brought them down roughly. Aziraphale laughed and buried his face against Crowley’s chest. 

“You’re incorrigible.” 

“In the job description, angel.” Crowley stole a kiss before he freed Aziraphale. 

“We’ll see about that.” Aziraphale sat back on his haunches and took Crowley in, eyes trailing over his bare torso and long legs. He rubbed the inside of Crowley’s thigh, eyebrows raising as Crowley touched his own chest, running his fingers over his nipples. 

“Are you going to just stare?” Crowley asked, smirking. 

“If I please.” Aziraphale batted his hands away. “Stop it.” 

“I won’t if you’re just going to stare.” Crowley slid his fingers over his naval and down toward his groin. Aziraphale grabbed his hand and pinned it to the bed, Crowley’s pupils widening as his breath caught. “Aziraphale.” 

“Yes, my darling?” 

“ _ Fuck _ me,” Crowley murmured, canting his hips up. 

“In good time.” He released Crowley’s hand but gave him a look when he tried to move it. Crowley rested it back against the sheets with a huff. Enjoying the new compliance, Aziraphale finally dragged his palms warmly down Crowley’s sides and then teased his fingers along the waist of his trousers. He came to his belt buckle and slowly undid it, glancing up at Crowley who watched him with slightly parted lips. 

“You’re gorgeous like this,” Aziraphale pointed out. “It is a bit unfair.” 

“Angel, you’re flushed and beautiful and I’m not even allowed to kiss you in this position, if we want to talk about unfair.” 

“Flatterer.” 

“Hardly. You should see yourself.” 

Aziraphale ran his fingers over the bulge in Crowley’s jeans. “Oh?” 

“Hng.” Crowley pushed his hips up into the touch. “All for you, angel.” 

Something in Aziraphale softened at that. “Good.” 

He undid the fly of Crowley’s trousers and began the slightly difficult task of getting Crowley’s too-tight trousers down his legs. “How do you even put these on?” 

Crowley shrugged, smiling. “I’m talented.” 

Finally the offending garment was tossed aside and Crowley’s pants followed, leaving him naked and flush beneath Aziraphale’s gaze. His cock wept against his belly, full and beautiful. Aziraphale wrapped gentle fingers around him and gave Crowley a few loose strokes, reveling in the way Crowley’s eyes slid shut and he pushed into the touch. 

“Aziraphale.” 

“Crowley.” Aziraphale couldn’t help but lean down and take a taste, lapping at the head and then kissing down the length as Crowley whined and writhed beneath him. Oh, he could be content doing only that the rest of the night but he had other plans. So he leaned back and settled over Crowley’s body again, kissing him slowly with an open mouth. The kiss was returned with heat, Crowley biting his lower lip with a playful little growl. 

“Your trousers are still on,” Crowley accused. “That’s hardly fair.” 

Aziraphale snapped and he was naked. Crowley glanced down and bit his lower lip. “Shit, angel. Look at you.” Crowley ran his hands down Aziraphale’s chest and then met his eyes again. 

It was strange to think that he knew Crowley’s body, but Crowley didn’t know his. It brought Aziraphale pause and his contentment slipped away. 

“None of that,” Crowley murmured, drawing Aziraphale into a kiss. “I’m here, you’re here. It is just us, Aziraphale. Leave the ghosts in the other room.” 

“Oh Crowley.” He nuzzled Crowley’s jaw and dipped his hip downs, letting their cocks rub together as they both gasped. “I love you, darling.” 

“I love you too, Aziraphale. So much.” The kisses grounded him, especially with the scrape of scruff and the curl of Crowley’s fingers in his hair. When his dark thoughts were successfully chased from his mind he slithered down Crowley’s body and miracled lubricant, spreading some onto his fingers. 

Then he glanced up at Crowley, asking without saying the words. He hadn’t done  _ this _ with him before. Crowley answered him wordlessly by hitching one of his legs up, spreading them, giving Aziraphale access. 

“Beautiful.” Aziraphale rubbed his fingers gently along the cleft of Crowley’s ass, smearing lube over it. Then he teased a finger against him, rubbing before he pressed in. Crowley growled and tensed around him before immediately relaxing and pushing into the sensation. 

“Yeah. C’mon angel. I want you.” 

“Mm. And you will have me.” Aziraphale pushed his finger in further, enjoying the heat and tension, the press of Crowley around him. “I promise.” 

He took his time prepping Crowley, listening to every sound and every huff, memorizing every squirm. Eventually he twisted the three fingers in and pressed until Crowley was bucking against them, crying out and gripping the blankets. 

“Angel, please,  _ please _ .” Crowley was a beautiful mess and Aziraphale wondered how he hadn’t seen it before. He liked watching him unravel beneath his touches. He had the power here and it was so different than his previous experiences had been. 

As he continued to finger him he leaned down to press kisses to Crowley’s belly, whispering declarations of love and praise. “You’re so good, Crowley. You’re doing so well. I can’t wait to be inside you, to claim you as my husband. I want you to be mine forever.” 

“Yours!” Crowley gasped. “I’m already yours, angel. Please.” He whimpered. 

Aziraphale finally took pity on him and withdrew his fingers, spreading lube over his aching cock. He settled over Crowley, exchanging a few open mouthed, panting kissing as he lined up and began to press in. Crowley gave way, his body pulling Aziraphale in. He dropped his head to Crowley’s shoulder as he eased inside of him halfway and then almost pulled out completely just to rock in again. 

It drew a pleased gasp from Crowley that was music to his ears. He aimed to draw out more of those sounds, pushing deeper, rocking in and out as the way grew slick and Crowley reached up to hold him. He went willingly, their bodies pressed together, sweaty and slick and two becoming one. 

“Crowley.” Aziraphale kissed his face, his neck, peppered his shoulder and collar with kisses as he continued to move his hips. Crowley’s cock was caught between their bellies, but Crowley didn’t seem to mind. He kept thrusting up against it and rolled his hips down into the thrusts with needy little noises. 

“Aziraphale, I love you,” Crowley breathed out. “Oh, I love you.” He scraped his nails gently along the back of Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale, on the other hand, was a bit overwhelmed. Crowley was tight and warm and receptive, slightly slick with sweat and flushed a lovely red. Aziraphale had left an assortment of love bites against his pale skin and he admired them as they filled the room with their panting and the sound of skin on skin. 

“And I love you.” He shuddered as he pressed deeply into Crowley, his own body tightening, contracting. He nuzzled down his neck and peppered it with kisses before he gave up on that pursuit and dropped his head to Crowley’s shoulder again. Everything narrowed to the movement of his hips and Crowley’s body pushing back against him. There was nothing better in the world than this, nothing more important. 

He  _ loved _ him. So fiercely. So completely. Aziraphale scrambled to grab Crowley’s left hand so he could lace their fingers together against the sheets. The warm metal of the ring pressed into his skin, a reminder that Crowley wanted to be his. With his other hand he reached down between them and began to stroke Crowley in time with his thrusts. 

“Yes, yes,” Crowley panted. “Oh Aziraphale, my  _ husband _ , my love,” he gasped. Aziraphale picked up the pace of his thrusts, keening at the word husband, his body on fire. He chased completion, trying to focus on helping Crowley chase his. 

Then he was no longer there. Instead he was surrounded by a familiar never ending night sky dotted with stars. He was himself, but Truly. Energy, divine atoms dancing on the air, twirling flames and so many eyes. Aziraphale could hear the crash of waves in the distance and recognized the cold sensation of grass beneath his feet. 

Beside him was Crowley. He didn’t  _ look _ like Crowley, of course, but he was. He was all black and red scales, a dark shadowy energy with glistening wings like the night sky. They flickered together, twining, pushing. 

_ My love _ , Crowley whispered into his mind.  _ My soul _ . 

_ My darling _ . They spoke in an old language, one that was musical and meant for worshipping God. Instead, they worshipped each other, Aziraphale’s flames chasing away the fear and trembling, leaving his beautiful serpent in their wake. Crowley’s yellow eyes glowed in the fire of Aziraphale’s light and then disappeared. He could see through them, he realized, now looking at himself while looking at Crowley. 

The world tilted a bit, but really it was them. They fell to the grass and were suddenly less ethereal, less occult. Their true forms were reined in as Aziraphale laid over Crowley in the grass and pushed into him. His light tried to fill the spaces in Crowley’s darkness, and Crowley’s darkness enveloped him. Their wings, the light of dawn and dark of night, brushed together in the ether. 

_ Husband _ . 

_ Mate _ . 

It was difficult to tell from whom any one word or concept originated from. They were together, the same, one being. Then they were separate, Crowley gazing up into Aziraphale’s face in despair.

_ I know _ . Crowley looked impossibly sad. 

When Aziraphale crashed back into his own body it was to climax, Crowley already coming hard beneath him, tight around his thrusts. Aziraphale shouted into Crowley’s shoulder and then bit down out of reflex, barely noticing the taste of copper that touched his tongue. He continued to thrust desperately into Crowley, riding it out, as Crowley’s free hand ran soothingly up and down his back. 

Eventually Aziraphale collected his brain from where it had been flung and gingerly pulled away from Crowley’s shoulder. He stared down at the bloodied flesh and felt his stomach drop. 

“Oh, Crowley, I’ve hurt you. I’m so sorry.” 

“No.” Crowley shook his head, swallowed hard. “No. It is a good thing. Aziraphale.” 

They stared at each other and then tears came to Crowley’s eyes as he reached up and touched Aziraphale’s face. “Oh angel.  _ I’m _ sorry. The things that happened, the things that I did when I wasn’t me. I’m sorry.” 

Aziraphale kissed him, quieted him. He wiped away his tears and slid gently out of him. They exchanged salty kisses as Aziraphale’s tears began to fall, too. Crowley vibrated beneath him, trembling. 

“I remember,” Crowley whispered against Aziraphale’s mouth. “Like watching a movie about myself. How could you ever forgive me?” 

Aziraphale kissed him again because he didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to process what had just happened. His whole body was simultaneously alight with nervous energy and exhausted. He wanted to hide and he wanted to press closer to Crowley. Instead, he held his middle ground, holding Crowley’s face as he kissed him. 

“Shh, we’ll talk about it. I promise.” Aziraphale swallowed and kissed Crowley’s cheek. “We will.” 

“Okay. Okay. Shit. I love you.” 

Relief flooded Aziraphale the moment the words were spoken into the air. Crowley still loved him, still cared, despite knowing what he’d done. What he’d allowed. Seeing for himself how Aziraphale had allowed himself to love in the midst of Hell. 

“I love you too,” Aziraphale whispered, a promise and a fact. He finally collapsed to Crowley’s side but was soon tangled up in a sweaty serpent’s arms and legs, pulled close. The mess between them had been done away with in a quick miracle but they were still damp, still sore. 

“Your shoulder,” Aziraphale mumbled. 

“S’fine.” Crowley shook his head. “Right now I’m tired and want to sleep.” 

Aziraphale reached up to run his hands through Crowley’s hair. “Are you sure?” 

Crowley’s bright yellow eyes found his. “Yes. I...it’ll be better to process once I’ve slept.” 

“Once we’ve slept,” Aziraphale murmured. “I’m not leaving.” 

Crowley squeezed him. “Good, I don’t think I’d allow you to.” 

Relief flooded him as he leaned in to rest their foreheads together. Their breathing began to even out, bodies cooling and relaxing. Aziraphale’s thoughts ran wild as he wondered what it all meant, what Crowley remembered. It was a question for later as sleep pulled him under, his body warm and sore. 

**

_ Aziraphale looked at him,  _ saw  _ him. In these dreams before Aziraphale had either been sleeping or somehow separate. Awake but unhearing. Now he smiled shyly and glanced away, looking out over the roaring ocean at the base of the cliff he sat upon. His feet hung over the edge and Crowley walked over to join him, their thighs pressed together.  _

_ “I remember being here,” Crowley said. “Before.”  _

_ “Yes.” Aziraphale leaned against him. “I’m sorry.”  _

_ “Sorry?”  _

_ “That you had to remember. That…” Aziraphale sighed and tucked his cheek against Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley put an arm around him, then stretched a wing around him, too.  _

_ “I’m glad I remember,” Crowley insisted. “Aziraphale, you went through all of that alone…”  _

_ “This is our place, I think,” Aziraphale murmured. “Enjoy it with me?”  _

_ There were so many other things Crowley wanted to say and to apologize for, even though it hadn’t been  _ him _ . Not really. Just a caricature, someone borrowing his body, his mind. A version he was connected to in this place, on this plane, but no others. But Aziraphale was right, whatever this place was they inhabited together was calming. The ocean was steady and strong, the wind gentle and tasting of salt.  _

_ Beside him, Aziraphale was a warm, flickering brightness, like a flame. He turned his head and kissed the top of Aziraphale’s, then gazed up at the sky. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final update is....Friday. 
> 
> Come hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/) until then. 
> 
> Chapter 35 will wrap up the main arc, but that won't be the end! I have some bonus chapters I'm excited to share with you all but first, chapter 36 is going to be an author Q&A! This is your chance to ask questions about the plot, point out loose threads I left behind, and ask any questions you have about my writing process. I'll also be taking _requests_ for bonus content, outside of what I already have ready to share including some more Beelzebub/Gabriel background, a WEDDING scene for Azi + Crowley, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit of courtship between Rosenel and Lenore in the early days.


	35. Chapter 35

Aziraphale walked the familiar path through Heaven to the records office. He was momentarily distracted by a new Employee of the Month photo framed on the wall when he bumped into someone. 

“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry.” Clothing had scattered across the floor and Aziraphale immediately dropped to help gather it up. 

“Please, it is alright. A silly accident.” 

Aziraphale froze and looked up. Nanael smiled at him gently, still as beautiful as ever. 

“Oh, oh, I’m still sorry.” Aziraphale shoved the clothing at her. Nanael laughed. 

“Quite alright. Thank you for your help.” 

“Did you make these?” He motioned to the uniforms in her arms. 

“Of course. Despite the war being prevented, soldiers still need good uniforms.” She looked him over. “Do we know each other?” 

“Ah, no. I’m afraid not. My name is Aziraphale.” He reached his hand out to her and she took it, shaking it firmly. 

“Oh, I know you. You’re the one who stopped it all. I suppose I ought to thank you.” 

“Hardly. I just did what I thought was right.” 

“Sometimes that’s the hardest thing to do, even when you’re an angel. Anyway, I best get these where they need to go but it was lovely to meet you. Take care, Aziraphale.” 

“Take care, Nanael.” 

He received a curious look in return and realized belated that she hadn’t given him her name. He offered her his best smile and then hurried off, making a beeline for Lenore’s. They had a lot to talk about. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale called out when he returned to the cottage which smelled like spices. “Oh, are you cooking?” He walked into the kitchen. 

Crowley stood by the stove, fussing with something in a saucepan. He looked up and smiled at Aziraphale. “Yes. Have a good visit with Lenore?” 

“Of course.” Aziraphale walked over and put his arms around Crowley from behind. “Whatever you’re making smells wonderful.” 

“Roasted leg of lamb, with what is supposed to be cheddar broccoli rice. Not sure how it will turn out.” He motioned with a spoon to the pot. “But there’s fresh bread, too.” 

“Mm.” Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s neck and then the hinge of his jaw. 

“Angel, you’re going to distract me and dinner will burn.” 

“Will it?” Aziraphale asked innocently, splaying one of his hands over Crowley’s stomach. He kissed behind his ear. 

“You’re impossible,” Crowley murmured as he pushed back against Aziraphale. “I promise we can pick this back up once we’re done with dinner.” 

“If you say so.” Things had grown easier between them after Crowley remembered some of what had happened in Hell. They’d had a lot of long talks about it, Crowley processing in his own way the memories he’d been given. 

_ “I don’t feel the emotions,” Crowley pointed out one night, running his finger along the edge of his wine glass. “It isn’t like I’m reliving the moments. I don’t remember my thoughts or feelings, I just remember the event as it happened. I know it happened. And then I...I have feelings about seeing it.”  _

It certainly added a degree of complication to their already complicated relationship, but it was nice for Aziraphale to feel less alone. He could talk about events that happened and Crowley would understand from a firsthand perspective. And, Aziraphale realized about a week after the revelations, Crowley used the knowledge to predict and try to avoid things that would trigger Aziraphale. 

As their physical relationship grew so did the chances of Aziraphale having a bad reaction, something that tended to occur more often when Crowley took the lead. With the memories, they worked through it, Crowley whispering and talking to him as he touched him, moved inside of him. They figured it out together and it had left Aziraphale closer to him than ever before. 

His husband. His mate. 

“Aziraphale, I can feel the desire pouring off of you right now.” Crowley huffed. “Could you tone it down?” 

“No.” Aziraphale smiled as he kissed the back of Crowley’s neck. “That’s a rather impossible request when I’m around my husband.” 

“We’re not married yet, you know,” Crowley pointed out. “You said you wanted a ceremony.” 

“I think in Her eyes we’re married.” 

“Mated, angel.” Crowley stirred the rice. “Different rituals.” 

“You’re the one who said we couldn’t get married like humans.” 

“Well I changed my mind! I like the idea of you in a dress.” 

“Pardon me, who said I’d be the one in the dress? You’ve got the better legs for it.” 

“We could  _ both _ wear dresses.” 

“Mm. I quite like that idea…” 

They had wine with dinner and Aziraphale complimented the lamb as he brushed their feet together beneath the table. Without even bothering to clean the dishes they chased the wine with a series of kisses that led them stumbling to the bedroom. 

Aziraphale would never say it was  _ easy _ . Nor would he say either of them could ever fully heal from the scars of what had happened. But as he held a dozing, sweaty demon and traced the gilded golden mark of celestial swirls and star-freckles on Crowley’s shoulder that matched his own, he knew they’d always find their way out of the darkness. 

As long as they had each other, of course. 

_ I'm shaking salvation _

_ I'm flying faster and faster and I _

_ I was the darkness _

_ And you were the light _

_ Tear it apart _

_ And then we supercollide (I was the dark) _

_ [We supercollide](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MX_GVa7jVts) (and you were the light) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is...finished. The main arc, at least! Man oh man y'all. 126k words later and I can't believe this beast is complete. Thank you to EVERYONE who has followed this, whether you were in at the beginning or came in a little later, your support, comments, and love have meant the world to me! And thank you to everyone who is finding this after it is complete - I hope you enjoyed this story of mine.
> 
> A huge thanks to my beta Kazeetie, who listened to my inane ramblings and let me share WIP scenes at random. 
> 
> It isn't _really_ the end for this piece, not quite yet. As I've mentioned, I'm going to toss up chapter 36 tonight which will constitute an author Q&A. I will be an open book just in case there are any lingering questions folks have about the story, my process, or anything really! After that, I haven't yet decided if bonus chapters will keep to the Tuesday & Friday schedule, or if I'll just roll them out slowly over the next few days. As of right now I've got two chapters of Beelzebub/Gabriel, one of the Ineffable Wedding, and a bonus for all the Lenore fans out there about his early days in Heaven. 
> 
> You are all welcome to come chat with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/). I'm a soft bundle of love, I swear!
> 
> If at any point anyone drew art of any part of this piece, I'd love to see it! :)
> 
> Finally, I have a new work posted called [Seared into Skin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22470514/chapters/53692384) which will be updating on Wednesdays. It is an arranged marriage ABO. You can keep an eye out on my page for more Good Omens content though, because I've got some prompt fills and other good one-shot sort of stuff in the wings. 
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love y'all!


	36. Author Q&A

Welcome to my Author Q&A! 

I love getting questions on tumblr and twitter about my writing and my story telling. Half the time something gets pointed out to me and it is a surprise to me! Whether it is a continuity error or some fun imagery that happened to work in multiple places (even though it was unintentional) I love talking to people about my story and hearing questions. 

That's why I've created this! I know not everyone is comfortable reaching out 1:1 on social media (but please do, I don't bite), so I thought this would be a nice forum for folks to ask questions, leave final comments, **and request bonus content**. 

Yeah, I'm taking requests for this universe because I love it and I don't want to let it go quite yet. 

Note though: I might not write something just because it was requested. Nor will I likely write things in the order they're posted. I'm fickle like that. 

Questions can be anything about the story, my writing process, fanfiction, what I think about _Good Omens_...I'm an open book! Did I miss important tags? Write something that didn't quite hit? I want to know that, too. Constructive criticism has made me a better writer, and I love getting feedback from people reading my stuff. 

So go nuts in the comments. Bonus content coming soon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always my loves, you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/).


	37. Bonus Chapter - Beelzebub/Gabriel in Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beelzebub sees Gabriel kneeling on a stage with the other archangels and pulls every string they have to take him as their slave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my loves! Thank you all for your wonderful response to the end of the story and all of your interesting and fun questions! I'm still doing the Author Q&A in chapter 36 so please don't hesitate to keep asking question!
> 
> Here's a request from my beta, Kazeetie (and might touch on what some of the rest of you have requested): Beelzebub and Gabriel in Hell, during the events of the Other Timeline.

It was a nightmare, Beelzebub thought, but they knew nightmares. They’d created enough of them in the minds of tortured humans sent to Hell. They involved spiders, oozing pits, and abandonment. This, well, this was a different kind of nightmare. This was Beelzebub in a Hell that wasn’t really theirs, learning on the fly what exactly they were already supposed to know. 

They were lucky they were fucking clever. Some of the other Princes would have gotten themselves caught and called out for being too slow on the uptake. 

The angel slaves bothered them. At first the thought had its appeal: it was nice to think of the pompous asses brought low. But then Beelzebub witnessed Orientation. They saw the terrible things Langathar did to the angels, from whipping them bloody to breaking their wings. He enlisted the help of others to rape them, break them in, and it was enough to turn Beelzebub’s stomach. 

That sort of treatment was meant to be reserved for souls claimed for Hell, not for angels who were their kin. 

Beelzebub kept their mouth shut and their face neutral as they went through their duties, learning as much as they could as they went. The only time their breath caught and they nearly lost it was when they were looking over the archangels and they caught Gabriel’s eyes. 

He knelt on the ground beside Michael, Sandalphon, and Uriel. His jaw was bruised, eye black, and they’d taken his shirt. Apparently they all had been granted loincloths but nothing more, chained to a makeshift plywood viewing stage. Demons were allowed to spit at them, throw things at them. There were jeers and threats. 

They stared at Gabriel’s defiant posture, his stiff upper lip in the face of defeat. He was glorious and they wished dearly that it were  _ their  _ chains around his wrists, binding him to the stage. That he had knelt and taken them because they asked him to. A fierce possession rose up within them as their prize,  _ their _ angel, was on display for everyone. 

They pulled every string and called in almost every favor in order to have him brought to their abode. They made him kneel, put a simple collar around his neck, and put him to work. 

He was a terror. An absolute brat. At every turn he found ways to defy them, to snark, to try and provoke them. In another world, another life, those comments would have earned Gabriel punishments that he would enjoy, trusting Beelzebub to hurt him in the ways he liked best. Here, he wanted to really be hurt, to have a reason to be miserable. 

When he broke yet another glass in the kitchen, Beelzebub finally snapped. 

“Why are you such a useless idiot!” They growled, wanting so badly to take him to their room and put him over their lap. Their desire warred with their duty. 

“Why are you so insistent on treating me well?” Gabriel growled right back, glaring. “I’m a slave and you hardly treat me like one. If I’m going to be stuck with you, miserable, with you, would you at least give me something to be miserable about?” 

“You have no idea how lucky you are!” Beelzebub shouted. “You’d be out there getting fucked by strangers, by demons who wouldn’t care if you bled, who wouldn’t care if you wept. You’d be beaten and broken and  _ shared _ and you haven’t seen Sandalphon recently because you refuse to leave this bloody house but he’ll show you what it means to be shared.” 

Gabriel scowled. “They could do their worst.” 

“You’re an idiot.” Beelzebub ran a hand over their face. “A completely useless idiot.” 

After that, he moped. He stopped talking. He preferred to respond with incorrectly quoted Bible verses. Beelzebub didn’t know anyone could butcher a Psalm as badly as he butchered the one about the Lord being his shepherd. Boiling waters? Leads him on the right path to fields? It was one of the most quoted verses in the world and a damn archangel was fucking it up. 

One night, after working late specifically to avoid the archangel and his poor mood, Beelzebub heard a strange sound from the room he’d claimed. They crept forward and found him on the floor, hands fisted in a blanket he held up to his face. He was crying. 

Beelzebub wouldn’t admit it, but their heart broke a little bit. 

“Gabriel.” 

The archangel’s head flew up, eyes red and bloodshot. He wiped his nose and straightened his shoulders. 

“Master.” 

Beelzebub grimaced. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Don’t lie to me.” 

Gabriel stared, his fingers still curled in the blanket. Beelzebub wondered how alike this Gabriel and theirs were. 

“Come here.” 

“No.” 

Beelzebub sighed loudly. “Come  _ here _ .” 

The tension in Gabriel’s shoulders eased as he rose to his feet and approached, leaving the blanket behind. 

“I’d like you to grab a pillow and meet me in the sitting room.” 

“Why?” 

“Just do it.” They turned and left, making their way to the loveseat. They dropped onto it and waited. Eventually, Gabriel appeared holding a pillow and approached. 

“What now?” 

“Put the pillow on the ground.” He did so. “Kneel on it.” 

He tensed and hesitated. Beelzebub took a breath and let it out slowly. 

“Gabriel, kneel.” Slowly, he lowered himself onto his knees on the pillow. Beelzebub reached out and ran their fingers through his hair and then guided his head to their thigh. He rested his cheek there and Beelzebub didn’t miss the way his eyes fluttered shut. 

“Good boy,” Beelzebub whispered, scratching his scalp. “Stay like this until I tell you otherwise.” 

He did. Or at least, he stayed as long as he appeared able to tolerate his submission. An hour or so later he picked up the pillow and left the room without a word and without a look back at Beelzebub. 

They still fought. Gabriel still accused Beelzebub of being too soft. He asked to be raped, asked to be hurt, and Beelzebub refused. They offered to let him go out but Gabriel wouldn’t. He was scared, unsure. He could pick fights with Beelzebub and be safe but if he picked fights out there with a target on his back, he’d likely get really hurt. 

Some nights he silently brought the pillow into whatever room Beelzebub was in and sat at their feet, head against their leg. On one occasion he put his arms around their lower leg and held on until he went slack with sleep. 

Aziraphale’s appearance and work changed things, Gabriel’s snark and fire renewed as he became defiant up until the moment Beelzebub told him they were leaving. He went with them. They fixed the world. 

When everything was righted again and Beelzebub had their Gabriel back they tried not to think of him as he was. Instead, they admired the relaxed slump of his shoulders and listened to his quiet snores as he slept in their bed. His back was covered in their marks, hickies and bites, and he was at peace. 

They leaned forward and kissed his shoulder blade. He snuffled and then settled back into sleep. Beelzebub smiled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapters updating Tuesdays & Fridays...or whenever I feel like it in between!
> 
> Don't forget I have a new fic updating on Wednesdays: [Seared into Skin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22470514/chapters/53692384), an arranged marriage ABO/omegaverse fic. 
> 
> Come hang out on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/).


	38. Bonus Chapter: Gabriel & Beelzebub's Relationship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all starts with a meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello loves. Here's another bonus chapter for you all! Some **content warnings** to keep in mind for this one: bad kink. Bad, non-negotiated kink. There's a lot of 'Beelzebub doing what they want without thinking of Gabriel's well being' at the beginning, and a lot of trying to make up for it after the fact while still struggling. They don't have what I would consider to be a 'healthy' relationship, but they're trying. There is impact play in this one, mentions of an injury and a PTSD flashback, a lack of aftercare at the start, and a D/s relationship...I think that covers most of it. 
> 
> Otherwise, I hope all my other ineffable bureaucracy fans enjoy! Next bonus chapter will be an Ineffable Wedding C:

The impending Apocalypse brought with it a lot of bullshit and Beelzebub found it to be an annoyance. Gone were the days where they could slip down and torture some souls themselves. Instead, they had rosters to proof, inventory to approve, and a war to prepare for. 

It was what they wanted, but it was still  _ obnoxious _ . 

Then Dagon appeared in their office with a nervous smile. 

“What?” Beelzebub snapped, scribbling their signature on yet another form. Five years and it would all be over, and they could get on with whatever it was that happened when the world ended. 

“We’ve been asked to attend a meeting. With Heaven.” 

Beelzebub’s head shot up and they glared at Dagon. “Excuse me?” 

“Look, Michael and I have been talking…” 

“You and an archangel have been  _ talking _ , have you?” Beelzebub snarled. “Sharing gossip? Enjoying some wine?” 

Dagon scowled. “You knew I’ve been in contact with her.” 

“Yes, to screw Heaven over not to take meetings that involve me.” 

“Look, I think there might be some important matters to discuss and she promised to bring Gabriel to the table.” 

“How does that make me anymore inclined to buy in to whatever you’re playing at?” Beelzebub scoffed. “Gabriel is a righteous tool. I haven’t had to be in a meeting with him for centuries and it is better that way. Why don’t you go?” 

“Because they need you and me, if Michael is going to convince Gabriel to come.” 

“And what, exactly, is the purpose of this meeting?” Beelzebub studied Dagon who didn’t fidget under their gaze. It was annoying and endearing. 

“To see if there’s common ground, rules of engagement, something that will make the Apocalypse benefit us both.” 

“Why would they want that?” 

“Because Michael is a pragmatist. There’s more to be gained than just bloodshed.” 

“Then why don’t you go talk to the big Lady herself? She’s the one putting all this on, it is  _ Her _ Great Plan. If you think there’s anything we can do to stop it you’re an idiot.” 

Dagon sighed. “Would you at least try?” 

“Fine. I’ll attend your idiotic meeting, if only to see the outrage on Gabriel’s face when you and Michael suggest some sort of compromise.” 

Dagon rolled her eyes but said nothing more. The meeting was scheduled a few days later, to take place on Earth in some executive office that made Beelzebub itch. Gabriel, Michael, and Sandalphon sat on one side of the table while Dagon and Beelzebub sat on the other. 

They didn’t miss the significant looks that Dagon and Michael shared. It irked them. 

“So, we’re all here,” Gabriel began. “Mind explaining what we hope to accomplish with this meeting?” 

The meeting didn’t go much of anywhere. Michael and Dagon tried, but it was difficult to see what they wanted to accomplish as anything but attempting to subvert the Apocalypse. It couldn’t happen. The end of the world was a set thing. 

Dagon and Michael slipped away at the end and Beelzebub didn’t ask questions. They also didn’t seem bothered when Sandalphon popped off but Gabriel stayed behind. Beelzebub gave him a curt nod and then made their way out of the building and back out onto the London streets. 

Gabriel followed. 

“Beelzebub.” 

“What?” They growled, turning on him. “What could you possibly need to say to me?” 

He frowned in the sort of way an executive banker frowns at a waiter when they suggest the wrong sort of wine. Beelzebub despised executive bankers. 

“You need to keep your people in line.” 

“My people?” Beelzebub scoffed. “How about  _ your _ people? This was a joint effort by Michael and Dagon. This is the sort of shit my people are all about. Yours are the ones who shouldn’t be trying to get around Her Great Plan.” 

“I’ll deal with mine.” 

“Will you now? With what, a slap on the wrist and a time out? Please.” 

“I could smite you, you know.” 

“I’d like to see you try, messenger boy.” Beelzebub wasn’t scared of Gabriel. Their powers and abilities were comparable. If he tried anything, Beelzebub could do it right back to him just as badly. They glowered at each other on the sidewalk, humans passing by and paying them no mind. 

Gabriel straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin defiantly. Beelzebub had never wanted to hit someone as badly as they did right then. Oh, how glorious it would be to bring the great Archangel Gabriel low with a slap to that pretty face, a bruise to his jaw. 

Something on his face changed then. There was a flicker, a realization, and Beelzebub  _ felt _ it. Reluctant desire, like a sweet wine, wafting off of Gabriel. Could he sense how much they wanted to hurt him? Did he want that? Beelzebub smirked, eyes narrowing. This could be fun.

“You’d like it, wouldn’t you?” Beelzebub asked, lowering their voice into something a bit more tempting. “Big old archangel brought low for once. I’ve seen it before, in powerful humans, executives who need to be shoved around, hit a little bit just to relax. Do you need to relax, Gabriel?” 

“You’re disgusting,” Gabriel hissed, but he couldn’t hide it, not from Beelzebub. They were desire, and perversion, and pain. There was a rumbling of desire that thrummed through Gabriel and it tasted delicious. 

Beelzebub approached him, closed the distance between them, and Gabriel let them. They smirked and then in a flash reached up and slapped Gabriel across the face. He grabbed their wrist, held it tight, and stared with a hard look in his violet eyes. There it was, the flicker of doubt that lit something in Beelzebub’s chest. 

They snapped and the pair of them ended up in a motel room. It was just to the side of seedy, enough to make Gabriel grimace in distaste as he looked around. “Where have you brought me?” 

“Somewhere to give you what you desire, you piece of shit.” Beelzebub yanked their hand away. “How long has it been since you’ve had someone to command you, to lord power over you? Mom has been quiet for so long, I can only imagine how that must be torture.” 

“Shut up.” Gabriel snarled, glaring. But he didn’t leave. He had every chance to disappear back to Heaven and yet he remained in front of Beelzebub, defiant, stupid. 

“Don’t tell me what to do, archangel. You’re not my boss.” They circled around him and when they reached his back, shoved a boot heel into the back of his knee. He crumpled, falling to his knees with a surprised grunt as he hit the carpeted floor. Beelzebub buried their fingers in his hair and yanked his head back until angry violet eyes met theirs. This would be fun. 

They were surprised at the abuse he was willing to take and enjoyed the fight he gave. He tried to wrestle them to the ground after they’d ripped his precious sweater to shreds and they’d managed to hook a leg around him and despite being small, flip him. His head slammed into the floor and he groaned as they slapped him. 

“Stay down, bitch.” 

It wasn’t pleasant. Well, it wasn’t pleasant for him. Beelzebub allowed their pent up aggression to take full reign, enjoying the way Gabriel’s pale skin took their marks. At some point it was enough that the fight melted out of him and he became pliant, bent over the edge of the bed naked, Beelzebub fucking him brutally with a miracled dildo because they refused to soil their own corporation with his body. 

They ignored the way his shoulders shook and the sound of soft sobs he muffled in the dirty comforter. They took what they wanted, admired the bruises blossoming across his skin, and when he came with a heavy sob they left him there on the bed as they gathered up their things. 

“Y-your leaving?” Gabriel asked, voice rough and broken. 

“Yes. What did you expect? Me to stick around for a cuddle?” Beelzebub scoffed and purposely didn’t look at the mess of an archangel on the bed. “You’re a mess. Deal with that and run back to Heaven now. You know how to reach me if you want to get the shit kicked out of you again.” 

Surprisingly he called again and they met at the same motel and Beelzebub gave him a similar treatment. Whatever they did, it almost always ended up in Gabriel bruised and wounded, fucked open, looking at Beelzebub with resignation whenever they left him there. 

Until one of their play sessions went wrong. Beelzebub had found Gabriel didn’t mind being scratched until he bled and enjoyed dragging their claws down his back as they fucked him. In the heat of the moment, Gabriel whimpering beautifully, they dug in near his shoulder a little too deeply. 

He started bleeding. Profusely. In a way that made the blood pour down his back hot and sticky and made Beelzebub realize they’d pressed too hard, ripped in too deep. They pulled out of him but it was already too late. Gabriel’s chest was heaving, he was gasping, his knuckles were white with how hard he was gripping the sheets. 

“No, no, please, no,” Gabriel whispered dispodently. “No more fighting. I can’t go back out there. I can’t. I can’t.” His whole corporation trembled and outside, Beelzebub heard the first rumbles of a thunderstorm. Inside, a storm of panic began to rise. 

“Gabriel,” they said, voice hard. “Stop it. You’re fine.” But he couldn’t hear them. He had his arms above his head now. “Stop.” 

Beelzebub healed the wound, demonic magic crackling through the air. They conjured a towel and began to clean up the blood when Gabriel jerked away. He scrambled off the bed and fell to the floor with a thump, another loud rumble of thunder outside. 

“No. No. No. No.” He ran his fingers frantically through his hair and Beelzebub approached him slowly. 

“Gabriel, be calm,” they growled. “You need to be calm. You’re on Earth, there is no war.”

Gabriel looked as if he were in a different place. A faraway place. 

“Come on,” Beelzebub touched his arm and he trembled. “Come on.” They tugged and he followed on shaking legs until they sat on the bed and pulled him into their lap. His torso was draped over their legs as he panted and buried his face in their thigh. They used the access to his back to gently wipe away more of the blood which just seemed to provoke another round of broken sobbing. 

Eventually, after what seemed like hours, Gabriel began to calm. Beelzebub pet a hand through his hair, rubbed the back of his neck, and plumbed the depths of their mind to figure out what might be considered comforting. They’d never had to comfort someone before. 

The archangel’s breathing evened out and Beelzebub eventually laid back, guiding Gabriel up against them. He rested silently with them until, just as silently, he rose from the bed and began to gather his clothes up. 

“Gabriel.” 

He looked at them, eyes hard as stone before he turned away and finished dressing. The storm outside calmed and he disappeared with a flash of lightning. Beelzebub was left with an uneasy tension in their gut. 

Gabriel ignored their summons for months after that. Beelzebub was annoyed that they missed him. They replayed the last session in their mind over and over again, wondering how they could repair the damage they’d done. He’d shut down so quickly, looked so betrayed, and Beelzebub didn’t want to admit it made their gut churn with something that seemed an awful lot like guilt. 

They sent him a message with an address and an offer: they wanted to talk. It wasn’t a sure thing that he’d appear but they waited anyway, sitting at a small dining table in an apartment they had purchased on Earth. It was supposed to be a sign of good will, a willingness to admit that maybe, just maybe, they were interested in Gabriel being something more than an easy fuck. 

Maybe they could build something together, instead. Beelzebub fidgeted, wondering why all of this seemed so important with the Apocalypse looming. 

A knock came at the door and they stood and walked over, opening it calmly. Gabriel stood there looking as handsome as ever, dressed in a suit, a soft lavender scarf wrapped around his neck. He nodded in greeting, stepped inside when they stepped back to make space, and looked around. 

“New place?” 

“Sort of. That’s part of what we should discuss.” Beelzebub shut the door and led him into the living room, motioning to a chair. “Sit.” 

“I’ll stand.” 

It irked Beelzebub but they let it go, throwing themselves into an armchair. “Look, Gabriel. What happened that last time…” 

“I don’t think we need to talk about it.” He looked ashamed. 

“We do, if we want this to be something that continues.” And Beelzebub wanted it to be. Gabriel frowned and finally took a seat. 

“Why would you want to continue that?” 

“Because I’m a controlling bastard who enjoys watching you do what I say.” Beelzebub shrugged. It wasn’t any more complicated than that. Or it didn’t have to be, anyway. 

“And why would I want to submit to that?” 

“Because you like being controlled.” There was no point in hiding the truth. If this was going to be something they needed to be honest about why they were in a room together. Gabriel glanced at the floor and frowned, shoulders tense. 

“Not like that,” he whispered. “Not…” Gabriel shook his head. 

“What happened last time took it too far, you’re right.” Beelzebub itched to get him to see that they were  _ trying _ , but it was frustrating to not just shout at him. They could feel his desire still simmering beneath the fear and trepidation. How could they break through? “We need to set boundaries, limits, safewords.” 

Gabriel’s brow furrowed but he finally walked over to the couch and sat down on the edge of it. “Say more.” 

They talked. It was strange and messy and uncomfortable. Beelzebub tried to explain the finer points of what humans called BDSM, the things they liked to do to each other, and why. They explained consent, safewords, ways to manage a scene so that both partners could enjoy it without one overwhelming the other. When they were done, Gabriel sat back on the couch and was staring across the room. 

It was hard to read him. Beelzebub waited. 

“I do like being ordered around,” Gabriel admitted, though it sounded like it pained him to do so. “But in a way that…” His fingers curled in the leg of his trousers as he fought to explain. He closed his eyes. “I want to feel  _ safe _ .” 

Beelzebub let out a slow breath and stood from their chair, walking over to join Gabriel on the couch. “What’s your safeword, Gabriel?” 

He hesitated. “Lightning.” 

“Good. Remember it. Can I try something?” 

Gabriel glanced at them, uncertainty in his eyes before he nodded his ascent. Whatever they had between them was fragile and Beelzebub chose their next moves carefully. “Take your jacket off,” they insisted. “Hang it up in the closet. Take off your shoes, too, but you can leave everything else on.” 

Silence hung between them for a moment before Gabriel stood and complied, Beelzebub watching him from the couch. They let out a slow exhale. They could be gentle. They could be kind. And they could still get what both of them wanted out of their time together. 

When Gabriel returned to the couch he made to sit down but Beelzebub shook their head and motioned to the space on the floor between their legs. “Kneel.” 

Gabriel’s back stiffened, breath hitching. 

“What’s your safeword?” 

“Lightning.” 

“Would you like to use it?” 

“No.” 

Beelzebub nodded. “Then kneel, now.” To their surprise, Gabriel did. He lowered himself onto his knees between their feet and sat back on his haunches. He looked up at them. 

Beelzebub reached down and touched his chin, not missing the flinch. “Hush,” they insisted. “No pain this time.” 

Gabriel’s breathing was shaky. They moved their hand up and ran it through his hair instead, scratching over his scalp. His eyes fluttered shut. 

“There you are,” Beelzebub murmured. 

“I don’t understand the point of this,” Gabriel sighed. 

Beelzebub’s fingers curled in his short hair and tugged and Gabriel gasped and shivered, pressed his head back against their hand in a silent request for more. They granted it and his eyes flew open and he looked up at them. “The point, Gabriel, is for you to relax and understand that you don’t need to do a single fucking thing I don’t tell you to.” 

He huffed. Beelzebub tugged his hair again and didn’t miss his bitten-off moan or the pleasure that rippled through the air. 

They brushed their fingers down the side of his face and then thumbed at his lower lip. Beelzebub noticed the way his throat moved with an anticipatory swallow and how his eyes fluttered closed again when they pressed their thumb into his mouth. 

“Suck on it. Pretend it is a cock.” 

Gabriel visibly shuddered but did as he was told, his tongue tentative at first as it explored the knob of their knuckle and the worn pad of their thumb. Then he began to bob his head a little, moving his inexperienced tongue along in a way that probably would feel alright if it were an actual cock in his mouth, but Gabriel had a long way to go before he’d be an expert at giving head. 

It was fine. Beelzebub wouldn’t mind teaching him. Just as he seemed to get comfortable with the thumb in his mouth they pulled it away and relished his soft whine. His violet eyes found them and now they were a little hazy, his face a bit slack. They cupped his cheek and then slapped him very gently. “See? It can be like this, too.” 

He pressed his cheek against their hand and looked at them silently, imploringly. 

“Safeword, Gabriel?” 

“Lightning.” 

“I said there would be no pain,” Beelzebub reminded him. 

“You said that because you were worried I wouldn’t want it.” 

Beelzebub bit their tongue before they answered. “I wasn’t worried.” 

“You were.” Gabriel turned his head and nuzzled into Beelzebub’s palm. “And it doesn’t have to hurt, not really.” 

They directed his face forward and allowed the flat of their hand to connect with it, his eyes closing as he shuddered with the sting. It barely left a red mark and Beelzebub smoothed it over with their fingers. 

The session didn’t go much further than that. There was a bit more hair pulling, a command to sit with his head bowed, forehead pressed to the couch between their legs for two minutes, and then he was released from his submissive position if he so pleased. 

“Now, what do you need?” Beelzebub asked, hands off even though Gabriel still sat between their feet. He looked at them, uncertain. They sighed. “This is aftercare. Whatever you need, I’ll give you. Within reason, assuming it isn’t outside of my limits.” 

“Anything?” Gabriel asked. 

“Within reason.” 

Gabriel shifted to press his cheek against their knee and closed his eyes. “Can I stay like this for a little while?” 

Something in Beelzebub’s gut uncoiled and warmed at the sight of the archangel leaning against their leg, choosing to stay at their feet. “Yes. Would you like me to pet your hair?” 

“Yes.” 

So they did, fingers drawing through the short, dark locks. They rubbed his scalp, sometimes pressed their thumb against his temple to massage it, and he relaxed. After he seemed to deem himself appropriately cared for Beelzebub sent him off with a planning date set ahead of time. 

Gabriel hesitated in the doorway. 

“Say what you want, Gabriel.” 

Gabriel smiled, but it was a faint and unsure thing. “Not yet.” He reached out and gently touched Beelzebub’s cheek before he turned and walked down the hallway, out of sight. 

They learned later that what he wanted to ask for was a kiss, and once they realized he was into that they kissed him regularly. Sometimes there were kisses over planning meetings, whenever Gabriel looked a bit shocked or nervous over a new toy Beelzebub offered to use on him. Other time they were in the middle of a session, when Gabriel whispered his safeword and Beelzebub held him, kissing him until he melted into their embrace. 

It wasn’t always easy, and there were times that Gabriel was too overly affectionate, when Beelzebub had to employ their own safeword and put distance between them because it was all  _ too much _ . Too much affection, too much love. They weren’t built for it. But they learned, as did Gabriel, as the thing between them became less fragile and far steadier. The apartment they had together became their home. 

Gabriel left his suits and pretentious sweaters in the closet. Beelzebub had a collection of toys in the drawer. They bought a TV at some point and spent evenings leading up to the apocalypse sprawled together on the couch, or sometimes in their separate corners, Beelzebub drinking and Gabriel watching. 

Their sessions started to end with both of them curled up in bed dozing, Beelzebub’s head on Gabriel’s sturdy, warm chest as they rested together. It was strange, but they didn’t stop talking, didn’t stop trying to navigate it, because Beelzebub refused to ever allow the look of terror or the rumble of thunder to enter their relationship again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates Tuesdays & Fridays still while I have bonus chapters to post! If you have suggestions feel free to leave them in the comments. 
> 
> Come talk at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> You can also check out my new fic, an arranged marriage omegaverse story called [Seared into Skin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22470514/chapters/53692384).


	39. Bonus Chapter: The Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wedding bells ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Softest Chapter That Ever Existed: The boys get married! 
> 
> Enjoy.

Aziraphale re-tied his bowtie for the fourth time, staring at himself in the mirror. Crowley had given him the bedroom, taking the bathroom for his own preparations. Anathema was in there with him while Lenore watched Aziraphale from his spot perched on a stool. There was an amused smile on his lips, owlish eyes large and unblinking. 

“Perhaps I ought to forego the tie,” Aziraphale grumbled as he undid it again and allowed it to hang around his neck. It was his favorite tartan tie, matching the accents of the dark brown suit he’d talked Crowley into letting him wear. Crowley would look far more stylish he knew, but that was how they worked. 

Though now he wondered if dresses would have been simpler. 

Lenore stood and crossed over to him, turning him away from the mirror with steadying hands. “I think you ought to ask for help.” He worked at the tie, hands confident, and when Aziraphale turned back toward the mirror his tie was in good shape. He let out a slow breath and Lenore awkwardly patted him on the back. 

“It is a bit of torture, putting yourself through a human wedding.” 

“Yes, well, it seemed like a romantic notion at the time.” Aziraphale side-eyed Lenore and then glanced back at the mirror to make sure the rest of his ensemble was on straight. “How do humans do it?” 

Lenore made a non-commital noise and then glanced at the clock. “I know this whole thing can’t technically start without you, but I don’t imagine it would be kind to keep the guests waiting.” 

“What, all five of them?” Aziraphale snorted. It was a small affair. They had a limited social circle, and a good portion of it consisted of twelve-year-olds managed by Arthur Young who still wasn’t quite sure why they were all there. He was a good sport about it regardless. 

Lenore rested his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders from behind and squeezed, despite the act seeming a bit awkward for him. “You are going to be just fine, I think.” 

Aziraphale let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I think you’re right.” 

They’d dressed up the back garden to suit a wedding. There were fairy lights strung up in the trees and bushes, chairs arranged around a flower arch that Crowley had cultivated himself, and a Universalist pastor that Anathema had enlisted for the event. They had ordered catering from a local restaurant in the village nearby which was set up on a long table accompanied by a number of fine bottles of wine and some sparkling cider. 

It was humble, but Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile at it all as Lenore led him carefully down the aisle. Crowley had already taken his place at the front, Anathema by his side looking beautiful as ever with bright eyes and braided hair. In the seats, the Them turned to look so they could follow Aziraphale with their gazes. Adam smiled. 

Rosenel smiled at them too, sitting toward the front of it all beside Madame Tracy with Shadwell grumbling beside her. Newt was in attendance as well, along with a few neighbors they’d gotten to know during their time at the cottage. 

As Lenore let go of Aziraphale’s arm to allow him to stand across from Crowley, he realized just how far they’d come from two years before, with a failed apocalypse and a trip to Hell. Crowley was dressed in a grey suit, with a dark red undershirt and pocket square. He’d even put a tie on for the occasion and Aziraphale had to resist the urge to straighten it out for him. 

He looked up into Crowley’s eyes finally, his own already blurred with tears as the pastor began to speak. Aziraphale could hardly focus on the words as Crowley smiled at him and reached out to take his trembling hands, holding them steady. Crowley’s ring had been tucked away in the pocket of his jacket and he knew Crowley had a ring for him somewhere on his person, though he had yet to see it. 

Crowley squeezed his hands and Aziraphale looked up, startled, only to realize the pastor was giving him a gentle smile. 

“Did you prepare your own vows?” He asked. 

“I - yes, of course.” Aziraphale let out a shaking breath and looked back at Crowley. “I look around at our group of friends here today, small but mighty, and none of them know me as well as you. We have been a pair since the beginning, a boxed set, impossible to have one without the other. Despite the distances we’ve traversed and the space we’ve put between us, we always managed to fall back into orbit.

“A lot of that I realize in retrospect was you chasing me, willing to do so to the ends of the Earth. Yet time and time again I turned you down, pushed you away, left you in the cold. You persevered for some reason. You saw something in me that was worth coming back for each and every time and I’m so grateful you did, that you didn’t let my stubbornness push us apart for good. 

“You have been my best friend, my confidant, my joy, and my love. I can’t-” He choked on the words as tears fell. “I can’t begin to tell you how much you mean to me Crowley. How much I love you.” 

Aziraphale let out a soft sob as the emotions poured out of him, regret for all the times he’d pushed Crowley away, fear that he would never be good enough, worry that this would end with both of them dead, yet here they were: going through the human ritual of marriage. Sharing vows in front of trusted friends who watched with misty eyes. 

Crowley cupped his face in his hands, thumbs brushing away some of the tears as he pressed their foreheads together. 

“You have always been worth it, Aziraphale,” he whispered. “You will always be worth it. I formed stars, hung them in the sky, and yet none of them will ever light up my life like you do. I love you and you are mine, and I will protect you and take care of you and guard your heart to the best of my imperfect abilities.” 

With their foreheads pressed together, each of them recited the ritual vows as the pastor said them. There was no stopping the tears by that point, Aziraphale’s voice wavering as he made promises to Crowley before God and man. 

They exchanged rings. A gentle breeze ruffled through his hair. 

“I now pronounce you husbands, and partners, from this day onward,” the pastor announced, and Crowley surged forward to press their lips together. Aziraphale kissed back, his fingers curled in Crowley’s lapel as he held him close. Their small audience cheered and clapped. 

The reception in the garden afterward was a polite affair. The DJ was a young man from the village who did it as a hobby and the playlist had been cultivated by Crowley and Anathema. Aziraphale didn’t mind, despite most of it being bebop, as there was the occasional classic that caught his ear. 

Aziraphale nibbled on a sandwich as the Them approached, Adam in the lead with Dog at his heels. 

“We got you something!” He announced, holding up a package. 

“Oh? You shouldn’t have.” Aziraphale set his plate aside on the table and took the package in hand. It felt like a book. “Shall I unwrap it now?” 

“‘Course, why else would we give it to you now?” Pepper groused. 

“Because,” Wensleydale chipped in, “that’s the polite thing to do.” 

“You should open it!” Brian insisted. “It is from all of us.” 

Aziraphale carefully unwrapped it, revealing a hand drawn cover. They’d  _ made _ him a book, and had it printed like a paperback. He ran his hand over the drawing, smiling. It was a story about them, all of them, a representation of each character scribbled in the endearing way of children. He flipped through the book, surprised to find mentions of pirates and detectives that he didn’t quite remember at the end of the world, but the illustrations were something. 

“Adam mostly wrote it,” Brian admitted. “But we helped with the pictures.” 

Pepper muscled her way to the front and pointed at a particularly detailed illustration of her shoving a flaming sword into War. “I drew that.” 

“Indeed you did.” Aziraphale smiled and closed the book, holding it to his chest. “Thank you all for this lovely thing. I’m grateful for it and can’t wait to show Crowley.” 

The children, satisfied, dashed away just as Crowley approached and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale from behind. He set his chin on his shoulder. “They got you a book then?” 

“Mmhm. A book about us, with a few flourishes included.” 

“Sounds boring,” Crowley kissed the side of Aziraphale’s neck. “Can I tempt you into a dance?” 

“I suppose it is part of what one should do at this sort of thing…” Aziraphale smiled and set the book on the gift table as he was led to the patch of grass that was the designated dance floor. Anathema already had Newt in her arms, swaying to the music as he kept his gaze firmly planted on their feet, trying not to step on her. Even Madame Tracy had managed to convince Shadwell to dance, both of them moving together elegantly. 

Aziraphale allowed his arms to slide around Crowley’s neck, Crowley’s around his waist. 

“I love you,” Crowley murmured into his ear. 

“I think you’re quite alright,” Aziraphale teased back, receiving a nip to his earlobe in retribution. 

“When do we get to kick everyone off our property to celebrate properly?” 

“Mm. In another hour or so I suspect, once the sun fully sets.” 

Crowley groaned, pressing his forehead to Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I thought the whole point of the wedding was for me to carry you back to the bedroom as quickly as possible and ravish you.” 

“I think it is cute you believe you’ll be the one to do the ravishing today.” 

“Ngk.” Crowley’s arms tightened around him. 

Their guests lingered for the cake cutting and more dancing, but by the time the moon grew high in the sky they dispersed toward their own homes. Anathema kissed them both on the cheek in farewell, Newt shepherding her toward the car. The children had gone home not long after giving over the book despite their protests. Eventually the only ones who remained were Lenore and Rosenel, both dancing in the quiet even though the DJ had packed up. 

Aziraphale watched them, Crowley slipping up beside him. 

“They’re quite beautiful aren’t they?” Aziraphale looked over at Crowley who put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him to his side. 

“Yeah.” Crowley kissed the top of Aziraphale’s head. “Not as beautiful as you, though.” 

“Oh hush.” 

“I’m serious. Your hair, this moonlight, those cheeks…” He leaned down to brush a kiss to his cheekbone. “Beautiful.” 

“You’re a flatterer.” 

“How else am I supposed to get you into bed, hm?” Crowley laughed. Lenore and Rosenel finished their dance and walked over, arms linked. 

“This was a lovely thing, Aziraphale,” Rosenel said with a smile. “It makes me think I ought to make this one plan a human wedding with me.” 

Lenore shook his head. “No, no. I don’t think either of us need that my love.” 

“Perhaps not.” Her gaze shifted between Crowley and Aziraphale. “You both look a bit tired.” 

“Yes, well, it was a lot of people,” Aziraphale admitted, leaning more into Crowley. “Compared to the sorts of things we’re used to these days.” 

“We’ll let you both rest, then. Thank you for inviting us.” Rosenel kissed them both on the cheek. Lenore nodded at them. 

“Yes, thank you for letting me be a part of all this.” Lenore fidgeted, then seemed to come to a decision as he dragged both of them into a hug. “Best wishes to you both.” He stepped back and took Rosenel’s hand and they disappeared. 

With a snap, everything but the fairy lights was put away. The food would be in their fridge, the garbage tucked away. Aziraphale smiled and admired the lights then yelped in surprise as he was scooped into Crowley’s arms bridal style and carried back to the house. 

“Crowley!” He threw his arms around him, holding on. Crowley grinned like a rogue who had just won over a maiden. He carried him all the way to the bedroom where he deposited him on the bed. 

Aziraphale relaxed back against the pillows and snagged Crowley’s hand to tug him down into a kiss. Crowley went willingly. They shared soft kisses until Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s left hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing his ring. 

“I love you,” he murmured. 

“I love you too, angel. You’re mine now, twice over at that.” 

Aziraphale smiled. “I wouldn’t want to be anything else.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last written bonus chapter will be Friday! Unless I do some writing on requests between now and then. 
> 
> Never fear, though, you can come hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels), [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/) and I have discord if you want to chat! Ask me about my discord handle.
> 
> Also, I've got a new piece that updates Wednesdays which is an omegaverse/ABO arranged marriage fic called [Seared into Skin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22470514/chapters/53692384).


	40. Bonus Chapter: Lenore and Rosenel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lenore just wanted to design his birds in peace, but another angel wormed her way into his life and he found he didn't mind it so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one goes out to everyone who wanted more Lenore! Happy Valentine's Day my loves.
> 
> As part of some art I commissioned for this fic (which I'll share as soon as I can), the artist did a concept piece for angel!Lenore. You can find it on twitter [HERE](https://twitter.com/Valerie_Sparkle/status/1227349266181607424). I'm in love.

Finches. That is what humanity would call them, but at the moment Lenore was having trouble figuring out the style of their beaks. There were so many options, so many possibilities that it seemed unfair to try and limit them. He’d been working on birds for quite some time and now that Earth had moved from concept to production there were stricter deadlines to meet. 

He erased some of the scales off of one of his sketches. It would confuse people, mixing birds with reptiles. 

“Those look interesting.” 

Lenore nearly jumped out of his seat and he knocked the pencil off the table, spinning around. He’d been alone in the workshop and hadn’t been expecting anyone. Most other angels ignored him, disinterested in his work, and that was fine by him. When he laid eyes on the angel that had spoken he couldn’t help but stare. 

She, if they were a she which he’d need to clarify, was beautiful. She had dark skin, dark braided hair, and light pink eyes. There were golden freckles on her cheek and some which dusted her shoulders, or at least what he could see of them poking out from beneath her robes. 

“Er -” he bit his tongue, not sure what to say. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” She smiled gently and Lenore was stung by it. No one smiled at him gently. He was too tall, too strange, too lanky. His arms were too long, his body too thin, his eyes too much like the birds he got to design. He hadn’t chosen a pleasing corporation, instead focusing on what seemed to fit him best. 

This angel in front of him didn’t seem to mind. She even met his gaze which was rare. Most didn’t like his eyes in particular, large and red-orange in color with perfectly circular black pupils. They were the eyes of an owl, a predator he hadn’t designed but that seemed to exist before him. God did have a strange sense of humor sometimes.

“What are you doing here?” He finally stood up from his chair. 

“I was curious.” Her smile faded and Lenore wanted to kick himself. “I haven’t had a chance to see much of what goes on behind the scenes and you seemed to be working so intently I thought I’d try to sneak a peek.” 

“What’s your position, then?” If she wasn’t involved in creation, she must be management. Was this a test? Was she keeping an eye on him on behalf of Uriel? He was well ahead of his deadlines. He’d submitted humming birds just the day before, with prototypes ready to go. Had Uriel been unhappy with them?

“Ah, unimportant.” She shook her head. “I’m just a grunt, doing a little bit of this and that. You, though,” she peeked around him. “Those sketches are amazing. Are you trying to decide on beak shape?” 

“Er, well, I was thinking they might have different beaks depending on where they live and what they eat.” He shifted aside and tried to bite down on his suspicion. Work seemed safe enough to talk about. 

“Oh.” She reached out and touched the sketch, smearing the pencil. She immediately retracted her hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” 

“No, no, it is alright. I just…” He picked his pencil off the ground and fixed the line. “See? Better.” 

Her smile was back. Lenore felt a strange warmth grow in his chest. 

“I’m Rosenel, I realize I didn’t introduce myself after startling you.” She offered her hand. 

“Lenore.” He took it and shook it, trying to ignore how warm and dry it was. “Do you, er, have preferred pronouns?” 

“Oh!” She laughed. “She and her, I suppose, for right now. And you?” 

“He and him.” Lenore shrugged. It didn’t really matter all things considered, as they were entities completely outside of the corporations they inhabited. They were genderless. But with the creation of humans on the horizon he thought the idea of gender interesting enough to try on. 

It was going well so far, he thought. 

“I should...get back to work.” Lenore didn’t really want to, but he still had deadlines and humming birds would only get him so far. 

“Of course. I’ll leave you to it. Good luck.” 

She left, but it wasn’t the last time he saw her. Rosenel seemed to show up when he least expected, whether it was to look over his shoulder in the workshop and watch him sketch, or running into him elsewhere in Heaven. She was the first and only other angel to show an interest in him and he wondered just who was pulling the strings. 

Lenore always waited for the other shoe to drop, for Rosenel to make fun of him, or reveal the whole thing was a prank. It never happened. Rosenel stayed later with him while he worked, making soft suggestions. They came up with barred feather patterns together, the barred owl quickly making itself at home in Lenore’s heart. 

He realized after some time that Rosenel had made her home there, too. He wasn’t sure what to do with the strange, foreign feeling. He’d never really  _ liked _ anyone before. 

“They’re doing the rings around one of the planets today,” Rosenel pointed out as she leaned over his desk, watching him sketch what would become a toucan. He liked the big beak. They looked ridiculous. 

“Rings?” He erased one detail to make it a little more precise, only half paying attention. 

“ _ Rings _ ,” she echoed and he finally looked up, recognizing her teasing tone. “Do you want to come see them with me?” 

“Oh?” He glanced down at his sketch. He was still on schedule, he could take a break. “Alright. Just let me clean up.” 

As they made their way out of Heaven’s main offices, Rosenel wound her arm through his with a smile. “C’mon then.” 

They sat in the vastness of space together, wings out, corporations shimmering. It was difficult to keep a corporation’s shape in a place that required them to be angels to exist in. Lapping at the edges of Rosenel’s corporation was fire and crackling lightning, both things that would be facets of Earth once it was created. 

She was beautiful even then with the echoes of wheels of fire and the head of a lion. He was far less impressive, but she pressed close to him anyway. They watched as particles were spun into forms, drifting ice and dust and rock made into something far greater than its parts. The rings were settled by their kin, other angels singing as they worked, praising God and Her creation. 

Rosenel leaned against him, her arm still wound through his, and he rested his cheek on the top of her head. 

The War came. He hadn’t known anything was coming until news of first blood reached him. He knew the Morningstar in name only. Lucifer was no friend of his because Lenore didn’t have friends. It startled him, then, when he - an angel who was certainly no warrior - immediately had one concern, one name on his lips: Rosenel. 

He ran. Lenore couldn’t remember the last time he’d run, but he grew tired of it quickly and his wings unfurled as he took off in the direction of the loudest sounds. A battle raged on, angels with swords and spears and bows attacking each other. It was difficult to tell who was on which side or why any of it was happening. 

A crackle of lightning made him shiver as he ducked around a corner, all too aware of Gabriel swooping in on large white wings to strike out against their siblings. Lenore didn’t want to fight, he only wanted to find Rosenel, so he tucked his wings in and tried to dodge through the bodies. 

He definitely tried to ignore the golden red blood seeping across the floor. 

It was no use though. He was so preoccupied with avoiding blood that he didn’t see a sword coming at him. He turned too late, ready to take a hit, but it never came. The angel in front of him was cut down and behind him stood Rosenel in shining armor. Her wings were held at their fullest, her pink eyes blazing. She was a wonder to behold but she was spattered with blood and looked at Lenore with impossible sadness. 

“The Morningstar is leading a rebellion,” she informed him. “You need to get away from here.” 

The War was a terrible thing in the end. He hid in his workshop and continued his work during the trials. He heard about the Fallen, Lucifer and his sympathizers cast out of the Heavens instead of being killed. It was a worse punishment in his opinion to be separated from Her, to be cut off. But perhaps they were the smart ones. 

As he tried to finish his sketch of a vulture he realized he was crying, tears dripping down his long nose onto the paper below. Even though he’d avoided the trials he knew his kin were in despair and there was nothing he could do. 

Rosenel found him. She was so hesitant, too, as if she weren’t sure how she would be received. He knew then why she hadn’t told him what she was, or her rank. She was a warrior, a fighter, created for times when the Almighty needed to enact judgement. She was probably as shunned as a nobody like him was, though for entirely different reasons. 

“If you want me to leave,” she began, but Lenore stood and shook his head as he crossed the distance between them. There were still tears in his eyes but as he reached her, he took her hands in his. Then they embraced and Lenore buried his nose in her hair, holding her as close as possible. 

After that, they were inseparable. The creation of Earth continued, the Garden going from design to a place. It was populated with Lenore’s birds and he paid a visit, bringing Rosenel - Rosie,  _ his _ Rosie - down with him. They sat in the lush grass and listened to birdsong, Rosie’s eyes bright and delighted. 

He kissed her cheek. 

“Did you think of their songs?” She whispered as if she didn’t want to disturb the melody. 

“Yes.” Lenore blushed. “The birds come up with the songs themselves. I just gave them the ability to sing.” 

“You’re something else, Lenore,” she whispered, touching his cheek. He pressed his forehead to hers. 

“I wanted them to sing for you.” 

They stayed until light became darkness. He insisted they wait and Rosenel humored him. 

Then they both heard it: a hoot, echoing in the night and followed by the barely-there flutter of wings. An owl swooped from the tree, picked up something in its talons, and just like that it disappeared back into the night. Lenore’s heart pounded wildly and he gripped Rosenel’s hand in excitement. 

“Did you see it?” He whispered. “That was -” 

Rosenel quieted him with a kiss and then a soft murmur, “magnificent, just like you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be another update Tuesday! I've got another bonus chapter almost finished. 
> 
> In the meantime, you can catch my Valentine's Day fic [For a Good Cause](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22714282). 
> 
> And of course, if you want to keep up on my new weekly updated fic you can check out [Seared into Skin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22470514/chapters/53692384). 
> 
> Come hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/). I take prompt requests!


	41. Bonus Chapter: Anniversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angel and a demon vacation in San Diego.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Here's the last bonus chapter for a while! I thought it would be a nice note to end on, and it hopefully touches on some of the requests I received on the author Q&A. Of course, I'm still open to more prompts/things you'd like to see in this universe! I love writing in it. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this softness between two beings trying to figure it out. Thank you to everyone who has supported this beast, and to those who are powering through reading it in its entirety now that it is done. It has been a wonderful experience and I've loved sharing this story with you!

Sunlight slipped through the window and danced across Crowley’s face. He could see it beyond his eyelids and groaned, rolling over in an unfamiliar bed. They were on vacation, stashed away in a beach house off the Pacific coast of the United States. He had insisted on somewhere warm, Aziraphale had insisted on somewhere non-tropical, so they compromised on San Diego. 

He hid his face in the pillow because it was far too early to be awake. 

“My love.” The bed shifted with Aziraphale’s weight as he sat down on it. He had probably already made coffee and breakfast, read the paper, done all the obnoxious things morning people do. Once thing Crowley noticed for sure was that he’d opened the window because he could hear the waves crashing outside. The air was salty. 

“No,” Crowley grumbled. He knew he was going to be gently nudged further awake, tempted out of the bed by the promise of freshly roasted and ground coffee beans. They’d gone swimming the previous day and he allowed his corporation to ache pleasantly with the strain of fighting against the waves. He was comfortable as he was, no desire to get up. 

The blanket draped over him was pulled down and lips followed, touching the knobs of his spine. He shivered and then hummed, stretching out beneath the attention with a pleased little sound. They’d fallen into bed naked after showering off the sand and the sea and Aziraphale rubbed a palm over Crowley’s arse as his mouth continued its trail. 

“Zira,” he mumbled. Aziraphale chuckled and kissed the nape of his neck. 

“Rise and shine,” he whispered right against his ear. “I’ve made breakfast.” 

“‘Course y’have.” He sighed and relaxed back into the bed. The sheets were high quality, surprising for a beach house. He wondered if the owners had provided them, or if Aziraphale had done some tweaking. Whatever the case, the soft slide of fabric against his belly was beckoning him back to sleep. 

Aziraphale bit his earlobe and then dipped his head down to press his teeth against Crowley’s bonding mark. He made a startled sound at that, suddenly very much awake as sparks of electricity coursed through him. 

“You’re playing dirty,” Crowley grumbled. Aziraphale kissed where he’d ever-so-gently bitten and coaxed Crowley onto his back. Finally, he opened his eyes and took him in. Thankfully Aziraphale wasn’t fully dressed, just wrapped in a robe and his pajamas. He had been worried he would be back in his whole get-up, which to Crowley was the opposite of what anyone should wear on vacation. 

Realizing he had Aziraphale’s attention he stretched again and then relaxed back onto the blankets and smiled. His cock stirred with interest from the bite and he was tempted to reach down and put on a show. It would be one way to tempt Aziraphale into bed. 

The angel didn’t look convinced. He laid a hand out over Crowley’s stomach, thumb stroking, his wedding ring catching the light. Crowley admired it and then tilted his head to gaze up at Aziraphale. His hair glowed in the soft light of the morning, almost like a halo, a pink flush high on his cheeks. Aziraphale wet his lips and Crowley noticed the way he tensed, how he hesitated, how he wanted to say or do something but wouldn’t. 

So Crowley reached down and rested his own ringed hand on top of Aziraphale’s and earned a kiss for his trouble, the angel leaning down over him to press their lips together. 

“I love you,” Crowley whispered. 

“Mm. And I love you, darling,” Aziraphale bumped their noses together. “And would love it even more if you’d put something on and come to breakfast before it gets cold.” 

“_ Angel _.” Crowley whined and Aziraphale smiled. 

“I know. I’m a terrible tyrant. Come now.” He pat Crowley’s stomach and then slipped away and out of the bed, disappearing from the room. With a huff no one was there to hear, Crowley reluctantly rolled out of bed and pulled on a clean pair of boxers. He put on nothing else, despite the slight chill in the morning air through the window. It would serve Aziraphale right, having to stare at his bare torso after forcing him to leave their perfectly lovely bed. 

Breakfast was very American, waffles with eggs and bacon on the side. There were all sorts of fruit cut up in a bowl, and sliced strawberries and bananas on the waffle. In front of his plate was a mug of coffee, made just the way he liked it. Aziraphale settled across from him, adding a touch of syrup and tucking into his waffle. 

Crowley loved him. He reached out to brush his bare foot up along Aziraphale’s calf and got a fond look for his trouble. 

“I thought we could walk the beach today. I saw some tide pools I’d like to investigate.” Aziraphale looked hopeful. Crowley would give him anything. 

“Sure. Might be able to sink some surfers.” 

“Crowley.” Aziraphale huffed and primly dabbed at his mouth before he took a sip of tea. Crowley grinned. They finished breakfast. 

As they got dressed for the day, Crowley tried his luck and slipped up behind Aziraphale while he was shirtless. He nuzzled his ear and reveled in the way Aziraphale relaxed back into him. 

“Hello,” Crowley whispered, nipping Aziraphale’s earlobe as he rested a hand against Aziraphale’s stomach. 

“Hello.” Aziraphale tilted his head back to rest it on Crowley’s shoulder, letting out a contented sigh. “You’re not letting me out of the house without a tumble, are you.” 

Crowley knew it was a teasing question, but it piqued something in his mind. He saw images of another him, forcing Aziraphale, and closed his eyes against the wave of guilt. 

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale reached up and ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair, pressing his temple to his jaw. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I want you to seduce me, to drag me back into bed.” 

Crowley squeezed him. He wasn’t sure he was up for it anymore, so he merely held onto Aziraphale. They breathed together for a few minutes, Aziraphale’s chest rising and falling beneath his arms. Finally, he turned his head enough to press his lips to the golden stars and swirls on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Warmth unfurled in his chest, in his stomach, as Aziraphale’s very essence pressed close to his own. 

They were one. Mates. He had the distinct urge to wrap his wings around the angel and keep him close. Aziraphale turned in his grasp so he could lean in for a kiss. Crowley allowed him to guide them both back toward the bed. Step by step, inch by inch, they fell onto the fluffy down comforter. Aziraphale hovered above him for only a moment before they were kissing again, bodies pressed together and warm. 

Aziraphale loved him. It would be alright. 

Crowley napped after Aziraphale brought him off with his mouth, curled into his side, drifting between where they were and the place in the ethereal that was solely theirs. Aziraphale’s calm contentment lapped at the edges of his mind like waves on the shore, soothing his previous anxiety.

When he woke again they finally dressed properly and took the trail down to the beach, bare feet warmed by sun soaked sand. Aziraphale rolled the legs of his trousers up almost to his knees, a bucket in one hand, Crowley’s hand in his other as they picked their way toward the tide pools. 

“Are you going to steal the wildlife, angel?” 

“No!” Aziraphale huffed. “But I thought we might find some shells or rocks that would be worth taking home with us. Something to remember this all by.” 

Crowley wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forget the image of Aziraphale in a dress shirt and sweater vest, tan trousers rolled up, feet buried in the sand. His curls whipped around in the wind and Aziraphale let go of his hand to carefully prowl around one of the pools. He watched, taken for a moment by the being he got to call his husband, his heart seizing. 

Aziraphale looked over his shoulder at him and smiled. “Crowley, come look. I think I’ve found a couple of starfish.” 

“You think?” Crowley wandered over and listened as Aziraphale chattered on about one sea creature or another. They spent a good half hour exploring the pools before Aziraphale took a misstep and went into a pool that soaked him to the knee. 

“Oh dear,” he looked dismayed. “Now my trousers are soggy.” 

“You’re fine.” Crowley was safe where he was perched on a rock. He hadn’t wanted to disturb the wildlife unlike a certain angel he knew. Aziraphale glared at him. 

“I’m certainly not. I’ll have to hang these up to dry when we get home.” 

“You’ll live. It isn’t as if you’ll melt away.” 

He glanced back toward the ocean. The tide was starting to make its return, slowly but surely. What he missed as he gazed out at the rolling waves and expansive blue skies were Aziraphale’s careful steps toward him because the next thing he knew he lost his footing and stumbled into a soft body right before they crashed into the tide pool. 

“Aziraphale!” Crowley yelped, even as Aziraphale laughed. “You could have cracked our heads open, you daft idiot!” 

“Oh?” Aziraphale squirmed out from under him, leaving Crowley in the tide pool. A crab scuttled over his hand. He grinned, his curls damp and clinging to his forehead. “You seem fine.” 

“Fine?” Crowley slowly rose up to his feet with a huff as he pulled out his thoroughly soaked cell phone. “You’re lucky I can still do miracles. I liked this one.” 

Aziraphale climbed out of the tide pool. “Now you know how I felt about my trousers.” 

“Your trousers!” Crowley gaped at him. “Angel, I’ll show you something to feel troubled about…” He stomped out of the tide pool and Aziraphale gave a startled squeak as he took off toward the waves, bucket still in hand. Crowley grinned, his heart pounding with excitement as he gave chase. There was something so simple in it, chasing Aziraphale across a beach, the sun high in the sky and the water cool against his skin. 

Of course he caught up to Aziraphale easily, his long legs and slighter form making it simpler to traverse the sand. They were just to the waters’ edge when Crowley was able to wrap his arms around Aziraphale and wrestle him down. By the time they hit the wet sand, their bodies impacting and sinking in, Aziraphale was laughing. The bucket was forgotten behind them. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried out as they wrestled, each trying to get the upper hand. Crowley was slippery enough that he managed to slide out of Aziraphale’s grip, bringing his hands up to wrap around Aziraphale’s wrists. He pinned him to the sand, both of them breathless and panting. Aziraphale stopped struggling and gazed up with eyes like the sea, full of greens and blues and hints of grey. 

“Crowley.” His voice was soft and he smiled in a way that made Crowley fall in love with him all over again. He kissed him, brushes of lips first followed by open mouths and tongues. Crowley shifted so he was straddling Aziraphale’s hips, still pinning his hands down. 

“I’ve got you exactly where I want you,” Crowley hummed. “You’re mine to take.” 

He knew they were the wrong words to say the moment they left his lips. Aziraphale stiffened beneath him and then began to struggle, this time for real as opposed to play. “Stop, stop, stop, Crowley,” he heard the note of panic and immediately let go, stumbling back and falling to his arse in the sand as Aziraphale scrambled up to his feet. 

Crowley scrubbed a hand over his face with a groan. He’d fucked up. Of course he’d fucked up. He should have remembered…

Aziraphale didn’t like being pinned. Or couldn’t handle it, anyway, not without prior discussion and an outlining of what they would do. Not without a safeword, even in the softest scene. And he’d forgotten, because of the sun, the sand, the waves, the new location. He’d forgotten because in paradise everything was warm and okay. 

He should get up and comfort Aziraphale, he knew he should, but he was firmly planted in the sand. His own memories plagued him, Aziraphale struggling beneath him, crying out in pain, then gazing up and thanking him for it all. It made his stomach roil and he wondered if he’d be sick. Sometimes, Crowley wished he could scrub the memories from his mind. 

“Crowley.” There were hands running through his hair then, a warm body leaning against his knees which were pulled up to his chest. He continued to hide his face even as Aziraphale soothed him. There was a delicate tremble in Aziraphale’s hands, but he still touched Crowley, tried to pull him out of his ball of misery. “It is okay. I’m okay.” 

They sat there together as the waves lapped at them. Crowley tried to breathe with the rhythm of the sea. Finally a sense of calm began to seep into his bones. 

“I’m sorry, Aziraphale.” 

“No, no. We were playing. It was fun.” Until it wasn’t. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him and Crowley settled against his chest. “You know, we didn’t find any seashells worth taking back. We’ve still got daylight, we could keep looking.” 

Crowley sighed and finally wrapped his arms around Aziraphale in return, pressing his face into the damp, salty curve of his neck. “Yeah?” 

“Yes. And then I thought we could go by a market, pick up from fish. I’d bake it, with lemon and garlic and, and we’d have corn bread.” 

Crowley lost himself in Aziraphale’s discussion of dinner, fingers curled in his sweater vest, memorizing the textures. He breathed in deeply, then out, and when Aziraphale was quiet he nodded. “Let’s go find your seashells, angel.” 

They managed to find a couple nice shells that Aziraphale deemed good enough, though he’d like to try again later. When they got back to the house they took a shower together, Aziraphale’s hands steady and warm as they washed the sand away. Crowley returned the favor, keeping his touches gentle and light. He followed them up with kisses, going so far as to kiss the inside of each of Aziraphale’s wrists. 

Aziraphale caught his mouth next and kissed him thoroughly up against the shower wall. 

“Perhaps,” Aziraphale said as they got dressed to go back out. “Perhaps...we could make a scene that mimics spontaneity?” 

Crowley buttoned the jeans on his trousers and gave Aziraphale a look. “What?” 

“Well.” Aziraphale huffed and ran his fingers through his wet curls. He was nervous, but cute, shirtless from the waist up and still dripping a bit from the shower. “I liked it, the wrestling, the struggling.” 

“Until you didn’t.” 

“Until I didn’t.” Aziraphale nodded and grabbed the towel off the bed, rubbing his curls with it. It gave him a moment to think and Crowley pulled on a t-shirt. “But I liked some of it, the way we moved, the moment where there was a chance I could subdue you even though I wanted to be subdued. I think…” 

There was a pause, and then Aziraphale made a frustrated noise as he worried the towel between his hands. His hair was sticking out in odd directions which took some of the weight off the situation. 

“I don’t know what I think,” he admitted. “But I liked some of what we did.” 

Crowley nodded. “Thank you for sharing that with me.” He sat at the foot of the bed and held out his hands. “Come here?” 

Aziraphale willingly stepped into the circle of his arms and Crowley brought him close and pressed a kiss to his belly. Then he rested his forehead there, eyes closed. Aziraphale’s hands made themselves at home in his hair, stroking, tugging, touching. “Are you alright, my dear?” 

“Mm.” Crowley breathed in the smell of soap and shampoo that clung to Aziraphale’s skin. He almost missed the smell of the sea. “You said something about making fish tonight?” 

Aziraphale pressed his fingers into the base of Crowley’s skull, massaging. “Yes. Does that sound alright to you?” 

Aziraphale had taken to cooking as a new hobby, after spending more time at farmers markets talking with sellers. He wasn’t bad at it, all things considered, and as long as he didn’t try to get too creative with seasonings he could usually follow a recipe. Crowley enjoyed it, if only for their moments together in the kitchen creating different parts of the meal, and for the chance to steal scraps of this or that and hear Aziraphale huff and chastise him. 

The fingers continued and Crowley nuzzled Aziraphale’s stomach. “Could stay like this for a while.” 

“Of course you could, you lazy thing.” 

In the end, they finished getting dressed and drove to a supermarket that boasted fresh fish. Aziraphale talked with the young man behind the counter about the selections while Crowley prowled the wine aisle, picking a couple bottles to add to the growing collection at the beach house. By the time he returned to Aziraphale, there were wrapped cuts of fish and cupcakes in the basket. 

Crowley politely said nothing about the cupcakes and it earned him a pleased smile. 

They ate dinner on the patio, the evening still clinging to the afternoon warmth even as the sun descended beyond the horizon line. Aziraphale had done a lovely job with the fish, even though Crowley didn’t eat a lot, and the wine was good for something bought at a supermarket. 

When the plates were cleared they returned to the patio, hands joined across the table as they watched the sun set and the stars begin to awaken over the Pacific. 

“It has been a year, you know,” Aziraphale pointed out. Crowley glanced over at him, trying to figure out what had been a year. Then he glanced down at the ring on his finger. 

“Oh, _ oh _.” Shit. He’d forgotten their anniversary. How had he forgotten it? Surely it hadn’t been a full year since their little marriage ceremony. He blushed at his own forgetfulness. “Shit, Aziraphale, I’m sorry. I should have gotten you something.” 

“Hush,” Aziraphale squeezed his hand, then brought it to his lips to press a kiss to each of Crowley’s knuckles. “You should know you are gift enough.” 

“Anything you want, angel.” Crowley was serious. Aziraphale laughed. 

“You’ve already given me that.” 

Crowley allowed the sentiment to hang in the air and realized very quickly he couldn’t stand to be apart from Aziraphale any longer. “Zira…” 

“I know, my love. Take me to bed.” 

Their wine glasses were left in the sink unwashed as Crowley kissed Aziraphale against every flat surface they could find on the way to the bedroom. Aziraphale smiled into each kiss until he was breathless, panting against Crowley’s mouth as he was finally laid out on the bed. Crowley knelt beside him, taking him in from the flush at his cheeks to the way his toes curled and uncurled in anticipation. 

Aziraphale was his and the thought left him fuzzy and almost too-warm. 

They divested each other of their clothes, neither of them in any particular hurry as they enjoyed the touch of fingers and mouths. Crowley loved the breathless little whines he pulled from Aziraphale anytime he touched the bonding mark, laughing into the curve of his neck when Aziraphale impatiently pushed his brief-clad hips up against Crowley’s in response. 

“You’re a tease,” Aziraphale grumbled. 

“I am,” Crowley admitted, pressing his teeth into Aziraphale’s jaw as if to bite him before kissing the spot instead. “You poor, tortured thing.” 

Aziraphale ran a hand through Crowley’s hair with a dramatic sigh. “I put up with a lot.” 

Crowley snorted and eventually got their underwear off, happy to lay atop Aziraphale and grind their hips together slowly as they kissed. Aziraphale made desperate little noises into his mouth, his fingertips digging into the back of Crowley’s shoulders as their cocks slid together. 

“How do you want me?” Crowley whispered into his ear, taking a break from kisses to try and catch his breath. 

“Mm.” Aziraphale nudged him and then rolled over beneath him, pressing his back to Crowley’s chest. “Like this,” he murmured, stretching to show off. Crowley kissed the nape of Aziraphale’s neck and then down his spine until he settled behind him, encouraging him up onto his knees. 

“Shit, you’re beautiful.” Crowley dug his fingers into Aziraphale’s plush hips, then ran one hand over his belly. He kissed his tailbone as his hands explored, ignoring Aziraphale’s cock even as Aziraphale squirmed against him. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whined. 

“I know,” Crowley kissed the dip of his lower back. “Spread your legs for me a bit.” He coaxed Aziraphale’s knees apart and then ran his hands over his arse, spreading the cheeks, massaging. 

Then he smacked him and Aziraphale yelped, then laughed. “Crowley!” 

Crowley apologized with a kiss, smiling into the skin. “No?” 

“I didn’t say that.” Aziraphale shivered and Crowley watched him reach out for a pillow, dragging it into his arms. 

Crowley smacked the other cheek and was pleased when Aziraphale’s hips thrust forward into the air. “Angel. You’ll be my undoing.” 

“I’m hoping you’ll be mine first.” He could hear the smile in Aziraphale’s voice. Crowley kissed the pinkened skin of his arse and then left him for a moment to collect a bottle of lubricant from the bathroom. He returned to the bed and found Aziraphale in the same position, cock red and hard but untouched. 

“You’ve been good,” Crowley pointed out. Aziraphale groaned into the pillow. 

“I only want you, dear, not my own hand.” 

Crowley resisted the urge to flip Aziraphale over and kiss him stupid. There would be time for that later. For the moment, he had a patient angel waiting for him, trusting him. He slicked up a finger and ran it along the dip between his cheeks before he teased the tip against Aziraphale. He didn’t miss the hitch in Aziraphale’s breath, or the way he pushed back against it. 

“I have half a mind to do this slowly,” Crowley mused, easing just the tip inside before pulling it back out. He pressed his thumb to Aziraphale and massaged, teasing around the rim. 

“Crowley.” Aziraphale shoved his face into the pillow to muffle his whining groan. His cock leaked and Crowley made a pleased noise, ignoring his own arousal. 

“I think you like it that way.” Crowley switched back to his finger, sliding it in about halfway and then out again, slowly thrusting, watching Aziraphale stretch around him. When Aziraphale whimpered pitifully in response, Crowley gave in and added a second finger. Aziraphale began to meet his thrusts, shifting his hips, a series of little moans escaping from where he was hidden in the pillow. 

Topping was still difficult at times, too many memories mingling together. But Crowley tried to focus on moments like the one he was currently in, letting it write over the bad memories of another life. This was an Aziraphale who wanted him, who loved him, who had agreed to be his in every way possible. He had the ability to bring pleasure, to share love, and his heart swelled with the trust Aziraphale offered him each and every day. 

He was suddenly very desperate to be inside of him. “Angel.” His calm facade started to crack. 

“Crowley, my love,” Aziraphale tilted his head so Crowley could hear him clearly. “Come now, let’s speed this up hm? I’d quite like to have you.” 

Crowley didn’t need any further encouragement. He set to preparing Aziraphale, still slower than he might have liked, but it was worth it to watch the tension in Aziraphale’s back and shoulders unravel with each press of his fingers. He paused, three fingers deep, fingers massaging Aziraphale from the inside as he kissed and sucked a mark onto the skin over his tailbone. 

“Please,” Aziraphale begged. “Now, Crowley. Hng.” Then his face was buried in the pillow again, thighs trembling. 

“I have you.” Crowley removed his fingers and slicked up his cock, shuddering with each pass of his hand. He squeezed the base and took a deep breath, overwhelmed. When he had it back under control he scooted up behind Aziraphale and pressed into him, groaning as he was engulfed in heat and slick. 

As he slid in he draped himself over Aziraphale’s back, nosing beneath his ear. He seated himself fully and whined against Aziraphale’s neck, adjusting to the sensations that shivered through him. He used one hand to brace himself while the other slid down Aziraphale’s front to rest at his hip, which he squeezed. 

They remained suspended like that for a moment before Crowley finally began to move, drawing a beautiful, high pitched whine from Aziraphale who arched back against him. He pressed open mouthed kisses to the side of Aziraphale’s neck as he began to fuck him, slow and firm, letting Aziraphale press back into each of them. Beneath him he felt every shudder, every twitch, and he slid his hand from Aziraphale’s hip to his cock to stroke him in time with his thrusts. 

“Oh, oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale panted, shivering. Crowley didn’t miss the way Aziraphale’s fingers were curled in the pillow, holding on. “Yes. Please.” 

Crowley thumbed the head, dragging precome down along the underside of Aziraphale’s cock as he began to thrust in earnest. Each push drew either a gasp, moan, or whimper as Aziraphale began to fall apart beneath him. There was a deep possessiveness that rose up into Crowley’s chest, one that led him to bite down over the bonding mark with a soft growl and a thrust. 

Aziraphale cried out, sharp and surprised, and through their connection Crowley knew his angel was pleased. He _ wanted _ to be Crowley’s. He wanted to be nothing but Crowley’s, to belong to the demon forever, and he yearned for tangible proof. Crowley growled again, burying his face in the back of Aziraphale’s shoulder as he delivered a series of rough thrusts that had Aziraphale gasping for air. 

Then he slowed down again and then stilled, buried to the hilt. Aziraphale whined and pressed back against him but Crowley set his teeth against the back of his shoulder. Aziraphale stilled, whined again, but then relaxed. 

“I love you,” Crowley whispered against his skin. 

“I love you too,” Aziraphale murmured. “And I’m yours.” 

“Mine.” Crowley reached down to reposition Aziraphale’s hands. Reluctantly, Aziraphale gave up the grip he had on the pillow to rest them flat on either side of it. Crowley’s hands moved to rest on top of them, gently pinning him to the bed. “Okay?” 

“Oh Crowley, more than.” Aziraphale shuddered and arched so his back was pressed along the length of Crowley’s chest and belly. They fit together so well. Crowley nuzzled behind his ear. 

“I want you to come untouched.” 

“Oh.” Aziraphale tilted his head and Crowley brushed their noses together, a bit awkward given their position but lovely nonetheless. “Yes.” 

“Good. My good, beautiful angel.” He began to move again, his thrusts a little less controlled given how stretched over Aziraphale he was. No matter, it was _ good _. To have the angel beneath him, panting, practically mewling with each thrust and drag was worth the pull in his abs and the lack of grace in each thrust. 

None of it mattered because Aziraphale was his. 

His grip tightened over Aziraphale’s hands as he fucked into him hard and uncontrolled, gasping against Aziraphale’s neck as their bodies came together. His lips found Aziraphale’s mark again and he kissed it, lapped at it, allowed his mind to drift and saw how their true forms blended together with every thrust and push and squirm as their physical corporations tried to become one. 

“C-Crowley, my l-love!” Aziraphale stuttered out and Crowley knew he was close, he could feel the way he tensed beneath him, how Aziraphale’s muscles shuddered. 

“That’s right angel,” Crowley growled into his ear. “Go ahead, come for me. Give it to me. You’re mine.” 

Aziraphale shouted and his body went as taut as a guitar string, muscles clenching around Crowley as they both pressed as close together as they could manage. It didn’t take long, thrusting into the tight heat of him, for Crowley to tip over the edge, his teeth digging into the bonding mark but not drawing blood. It connected them, their shared pleasure bouncing between them, drawing out their orgasms until it was too much. 

Aziraphale collapsed beneath him with a whine and Crowley remained buried inside of him for a few moments, struggling to catch his breath and to keep from crushing Aziraphale. 

“Shit,” Crowley mumbled, mouth barely able to form the word. He pressed idle kisses to the back of Aziraphale’s shoulder and up along his neck before nuzzling into his hair. Aziraphale’s hands were still pinned beneath his. 

“Mm.” Aziraphale said nothing more, his breathing steadily evening out as he lay pliant beneath Crowley. 

Reluctantly, Crowley slipped out of Aziraphale, all too aware of the mess that came with him. His come dripped down between Aziraphale’s cheeks and Crowley would be lying if he tried to say it wasn’t appealing. Aziraphale was his, after all, in so many ways. 

He flopped onto the bed beside Aziraphale and reached out to rub his hand up and down Aziraphale’s back. Aziraphale hummed. They basked silently together and Crowley was certain that at some point he dozed off. He stirred only when Aziraphale shifted and pressed into his side, lazily draping himself over Crowley and nuzzling into his shoulder. 

Words were unnecessary. They were both exhausted and dropped off into a doze. 

When he stirred again it was with Aziraphale stroking over his chest and belly. He squinted toward the window and saw the moon through the space between the curtains. It had to be late, the roar of the waves outside heard but not seen. 

“Hello.” Aziraphale sounded far too awake for someone who had been fucked silly not all that long ago. Crowley tilted his head and met his gaze. 

“Mmph.” It was the best he could do, words fuzzy and impossible in his mind. His body ached in the best possible way. Aziraphale pressed a kiss to his shoulder, then his neck, and finally his cheek which he also nuzzled. 

“We’re a mess.” 

“You’re a mess,” Crowley grumbled. 

“I am. I wonder whose fault that is, hm?” 

Crowley shrugged, smiling. He kissed Aziraphale’s forehead. 

“Should we shower?” 

Crowley shook his head. “Can’t move. I’m useless.” 

“A bath then.” The corners of Aziraphale’s eyes crinkled with his amusement. 

“Just miracle it.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Aziraphale’s fingertips teased along Crowley’s belly. Crowley wished he could be aroused by it, but his corporation was too exhausted to even consider another round so soon. Instead, the touch was comforting. 

“If you get it all set up I’ll drag my arse into it,” Crowley compromised. Aziraphale leaned over him and dipped down for a kiss, thumb stroking against his cheek. 

“That sounds fair.” 

They bathed together, the water perfectly warm. It soothed Crowley’s aches, and Aziraphale’s body pressed close to his own was a nice bonus. They snuggled, hands running lazily over each other to wipe away the evidence of their lovemaking. Then, naked, clean, and dry, they crawled back into bed. 

It was Crowley’s turn to once more curl into Aziraphale’s side, nuzzling up beneath his chin before he settled with an arm slung over his chest, a hand resting over his heart. One of Aziraphale’s arms rested around his shoulders, holding him close. The moon had risen higher in the sky, casting a pale light across the bed. Crowley listened to the ocean and breathed Aziraphale in. 

“Happy Anniversary, my darling,” Aziraphale whispered to him. “I love you.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley huffed. “Love you too, angel.” 

Crowley fell asleep to the vibrations of Aziraphale’s soft chuckle beneath his cheek. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This...is the last update for the time being! Unless I write more bonus content. 
> 
> Never fear, you can catch me on Wednesdays updating my new omegaverse fic [Seared into Skin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22470514/chapters/53692384). 
> 
> And...I also lurk around and write other things in between. Feel free to come find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels), [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/), or hit me up for my discord. I love chatting about Good Omens, writing, and anything else.


	42. Bonus Content: Art!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art compliments of Val. Find them on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Valerie_Sparkle) and [Tumblr](https://asparklethatisblue.tumblr.com/). They're great to work with and I've commissioned them twice now!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This art piece comes from ch 31, where Lenore, Aziraphale, and Crowley visit a Farmers Market. I love how Lenore came out. I've inserted the image into the chapter as well as posted it here!

The friendly chatter continued, Lenore and Aziraphale stopping at whatever booths caught their fancy. It was almost relaxing, despite all the people milling around. He stuck his hands in his pockets and felt the crinkle of the paper bag with the soap he’d purchased. It was the only thing that he felt compelled to buy, other than a bouquet of flowers for Aziraphale when the angel made pleading eyes at him. 

They had lunch in town at a new restaurant. Crowley sipped a pint slowly while Lenore and Aziraphale carried the conversation. It was enough, he thought. Enough that Aziraphale had asked him to come, let him stay, involved him. It was enough to get to be a part of his recovery.


	43. Beelzebub/Gabriel: The After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beelzebub finally opens up about what happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Times are crazy and chaotic right now, so here's a gift from me to you. A lot of folks had requested or shown interest in seeing what it would be like once Beelzebub explained what happened to Gabriel...so here you go. 
> 
> Know that I love you all and am available if anyone needs to talk. You can find me on my social media accounts linked below.

“What’s this?” Gabriel asked from somewhere behind Beelzebub. If they had to guess, he was standing at the kitchen island. They were parked on the sofa, a plastic pad thai container in their hands and clutched to their chest as they shoveled noodles and chicken into their mouth. 

They pointedly didn’t answer. They were too busy watching  _ Queer Eye _ . Tan was blanching over someone’s khaki capris and Beelzebub lived for it. 

“Beez.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Beelzebub grumbled. 

“Oh, so you did hear me.” 

Tan was going through the person’s closet, distress evident on his face. They had denim shorts. It was beautiful. 

“Beez.” Gabriel blocked their view of the TV and with a snap of his fingers paused it. Beelzebub curled their lips into a snarl and finally looked at him. 

“Remind me why I gave you keys to this apartment.” 

“Because we live here.” Gabriel huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, a piece of paper tucked between his fingers. 

“ _ I _ live here.” 

“Right.” Gabriel rolled his eyes and finally stepped over to join them on the couch. “What’s this?” He dropped the rectangular piece of cardstock onto their lap. 

They knew what it was. They had guessed before he’d brought it to them. Sitting on their lap was a ‘save the date’ for the wedding of an angel and a demon. Specifically, the wedding of two traitors, one of which sort of saved the world a second time. 

Beelzebub shot Gabriel a look. “Did you never learn how to read?” 

Gabriel scowled. “Why are you being difficult? You didn’t tell me they were getting married.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to know everything?” Beelzebub kicked their feet out and perched them on the coffee table, slouching further back into the cushions. They stuffed more Pad Thai into their mouth. With a snap,  _ Queer Eye  _ un-paused. 

Just as quickly it paused again when Gabriel let out a frustrated sound. “Why are you being difficult?” 

Beelzebub swallowed. “Why are you obsessing?” 

“Aziraphale got married! To Crowley!” Gabriel threw up his hands. “How is that  _ not _ something we would talk about!” 

“What’s the big deal?” Beelzebub tried to slouch even more but had difficulty getting the couch to bend to their whims. “So they got married. Who cares.” 

“I guess the question I have is why they sent you the announcement.” 

Beelzebub shrugged. “Crowley always liked me.” 

“Bullshit.” 

Beelzebub grunted. “Fine. I don’t fucking know.” 

“Liar.” 

“Demon.” Beelzebub openly glared at Gabriel. “Drop it.” 

“We’re not in a scene, you don’t get to command me. Did they send you an invitation, too?” 

Beelzebub pursed their lips and looked back at the TV. They had, indeed, sent them an invitation. Aziraphale had included a note and an offer to bring a plus one. What bothered them the most was the fact they’d considered it. Gabriel would look handsome in a suit fit for a warm wedding and maybe, just maybe, they had considered what it would be like to dance with him underneath the fairy lights. 

They were stupid thoughts to have. They buried the invitation in their underwear drawer and never looked at it again. Stupid Aziraphale, trying to include them. 

Beelzebub ignored the tightness in their chest whenever they started to wonder if they should have attended. 

“Beelzebub.” 

“I wish you’d shut up and leave me alone!” Beelzebub stood up and paced into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator in order to stand in front of it and stare. They heard footsteps behind them, then hands resting against this hips to tug them gently away from the fridge.

“Beez.” Gabriel murmured it in their ear, bent down so he could nose and kiss at their temple. Beelzebub hated that they wanted to melt into it. They hated the way they shut the refrigerator door and leaned back into him. 

“Yes, I got a stupid invite.” 

“Did you go?” Beelzebub wanted to pretend they couldn’t hear the wariness in his tone. If there was one thing they learned about Gabriel over all their time together, it was the fact he didn’t like being left out of things. 

“No.” They pulled away from his embrace and walked back over to the couch, dropping down onto it. Gabriel followed and sat so their thighs touched. 

“Did you want to?” 

“What is this, twenty questions?” 

“I guess I’m just curious…” Gabriel shrugged. “I didn’t think you were close to either of them.” 

“I’m not.” 

“You are. And it has to do with whatever happened, and what you won’t tell me about.” 

“Gabriel.” 

Something in their tone must have hit the right note, because Gabriel deflated. “I’m sorry.” 

“Shut up.” With a sigh, Beelzebub shifted so they could straddle his lap, draping their arms over his shoulders. He leaned forward to accommodate them, lips pressing to their pulse in an apologetic kiss. They moved their hand to the nape of his neck, fingers running through the short, soft hairs there. 

Gabriel kissed the underside of their chin, then left a trail along their throat, and they allowed it. It was his way of apologizing, even though Beelzebub knew he didn’t really have anything to apologize for. Despite how much their relationship had grown, they still hated thinking about Gabriel on his knees on the shitty wooden stage, waiting to be abused. 

They curled their fingers in the short hairs on the back of his head and tilted their forehead down against his. They closed their eyes.

“Hey.” Gabriel whispered it, hands sliding up under their shirt to rest warm and steady against their waist. “You don’t have to talk about it.” 

“I think after so long, I’m not sure I believe it all even happened.” They scoffed, Gabriel tilted his head enough to brush a kiss to the tip of their nose. 

“Do you want to tell me?” 

Beelzebub opened their eyes and stared into violet. “Something happened after the end of the world didn’t. I still don’t entirely understand what it was, or why, but after Adam tried to fix everything, it went wrong. I was thrust into a completely different reality.” 

Gabriel’s brow furrowed against theirs. “A different reality?” 

“Not this one. We fixed it. Aziraphale mostly, but I helped him. But there was another reality, one where…” They trailed off. Gabriel nuzzled their noses together and it eased the knot in their chest. “Hell won.” 

Gabriel huffed. “It is true,” Beelzebub insisted, frowning. 

“I believe you.” Gabriel ran his fingers through their hair, then moved their head so he could press a kiss to their forehead, then to their cheek, which he nuzzled. Beelzebub marveled at his affections. 

“You were a slave. All the angels were. Apparently demons decided…” They swallowed and shuddered. “We decided to enslave our own kin. You all were nothing but servants or toys.” 

“How?” 

Beelzebub shrugged. “We stripped you of your powers, everything that makes you strong. The other archangels - except Michael - were used as shared slaves. Demons could do whatever they wanted to them.” 

“And me?” 

“I took you.” Beelzebub put their arms around him and crushed his face against their chest, their face pressed against the top of his head. “You were mine. You  _ are _ mine.” 

“Yours, Beez.” Gabriel stroked their sides. “Always yours.” 

Beelzebub breathed in as deeply as their corporation could manage and let it out slowly, squeezing Gabriel. 

“You’re going to suffocate me.” 

“You don’t need to breathe,” they grumbled. 

“Mmph.” 

After a moment, Beelzebub eased their hold. Gabriel tilted his head back to look up at them. 

“You helped save the world?” He asked. 

“In part. Like I said, Aziraphale…” They hesitated, thinking back over just how resilient he’d been. “He did most of the work.” 

“I guess he’s not so soft after all.” 

Beelzebub slapped Gabriel, the sound ringing through the air. He stared at them with wide eyes. 

“Don’t call him soft. Don’t ever make fun of him.” Beelzebub snarled. 

“Beez -” 

“ _ No _ . Whatever your past issues with him, whatever mighty-than-thou bullshit you held over him, let it go. He…” They swallowed hard. “He saved you. He saved me. He kept this world going so we could both continue to live in it the way we want to. I almost lost you. I could have lost you, and that’s unacceptable.” 

Gabriel frowned and glanced away, his cheek reddening where they’d struck him. They sighed and put their hand against his cheek. “He’s a good angel, Gabriel. That’s why he thwarted our attempts to end the world.” 

Gabriel closed his eyes and tilted his cheek into their palm. Oh, his trust in them melted their insides and reduced them to magma. 

“You’re right,” Gabriel murmured. “Why didn’t you go to their wedding?” 

“It was too complicated. There…” They grimaced. “There were a lot of things to consider. I - well. I sent them a gift.” 

“Oh?” His eyes opened and he glanced at them. “What did you buy them?” 

“Does it matter?” 

Gabriel kissed their palm. “It does.” 

Beelzebub growled. “An instapot.” 

“A...I’m sorry. A what?” 

“Instapot. Don’t pretend you don’t know what it is.” 

“Of course I do, I’m just confused as to why you would send that.” 

“Because they like food! They’re always going out together so I thought...I don’t fucking know. Maybe they should cook it. Maybe the food will never turn out quite right and it will be a thorn in their side. Maybe they’ll keep it in their kitchen and never use it and have to constantly move it around to get to other things and it will be mildly annoying. It is a very demonic gift!” They huffed. 

“You’re right.” Gabriel was holding back a grin. “It is a very demonic gift.” 

“Shut up!” They whacked his shoulder. 

“What? I’m agreeing with you! Absolutely evil. It is the most diabolical gift.” 

“You’re making fun of me.” 

“Only a little.” Gabriel reached around and hoisted them up in his arms as he stood and began walking back toward the bedroom. “You are the most devilish of masterminds.” 

“Shut up.” 

“You are. Who knew Instapots could be so devious?” 

“Gabriel, I’m going to murder you.” 

Gabriel laughed as he kicked the bedroom door shut behind them and dropped Beelzebub on the bed. “Oh?” 

“Yes,” Beelzebub said with teeth bared. 

“Do your worst.” There was a glimmer in Gabriel’s eyes that reassured Beelzebub they’d made the right choice in choosing him. 

Later, when Gabriel was sprawled on his stomach and covered in bruises and marks, Beelzebub leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to his shoulder blade. 

“Mmph.” Beelzebub caught the corner of Gabriel’s smile. “Need something?” Gabriel mumbled.

“Just for you to know how gorgeous you are,” Beelzebub answered, ignoring the way their insides turned to syrup just looking at Gabriel. He had been blissfully fucked out. He had taken everything they had to give, and that feeling that bordered on love curled around their heart. 

“Did you want to go to the wedding?” Gabriel murmured. His eyes were closed and he seemed ready to fall asleep. 

Beelzebub shrugged even if he couldn’t see it and ran a hand down his back, then back up again. He shivered. “Do you want the truth?” 

“Mm. I think I’ve earned the truth tonight, yeah?” Gabriel tilted his head and gazed at them with one eye open. 

“I would have gone only to see you in a suit of my choosing, and I would have made you dance with me.” 

Gabriel’s eye closed and then with a great effort he shifted from his back to his side and reached out for Beelzebub. “Come here, you sap.” 

“Ugh.” Beelzebub made a face but allowed him to pull them into his arms. 

“Angels don’t dance, you know,” Gabriel said as he pressed a kiss to their cheek. 

“You’d figure it out.” 

“For you? I would.” Gabriel smiled and Beelzebub huffed, mind spinning with possibilities now that they were free. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come chat with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [Tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/).


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